


No Gold, Just Worthless Nonny Nonny

by the1crazycatlady



Category: Disney Animated Fandoms, Pocahontas (1995)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Boats and Ships, Colonization, Disney Movies, Disney Songs, Drama & Romance, England (Country), Everyone Is Gay, I Ship It, Leaving Home, M/M, Master/Servant, Native American Character(s), Please Don't Hate Me, Racism, Savage Land, Secret Relationship, Servants, Singing, Symbolism, Unicorns, Virginia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:56:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the1crazycatlady/pseuds/the1crazycatlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THOMAS: He's young, inexperienced, and leaving home for the first time to sail across the ocean and discover a New World. He's excited, not entirely sure what's in store for him. Then Smith saves him during a storm at sea and everything changes...</p><p>WIGGINS: He's Ratcliffe's manservant...and illicit lover. Everything is wonderful, except for those rare little occasions when Ratcliffe loses his temper with him. He thinks that everything's fine, unable to see the truth about his situation...</p><p>The New World will cause so many things to happen to them, both good and bad.</p><p>I don't own anything, of course, and set out this personal warning: there is abuse involved, so don't read this if that will upset you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Thomas**

  
Thomas drew in a deep breath and sighed, leaning against the rail of the ship. He glanced out at the vast ocean surrounding him and then looked down.  
  
Water.  
  
 _Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink._  
  
His stomach chrned and he thought about the “meal” he’d just eaten - or tried to. He suddenly felt sick. He could feel the ship rocking beneath his feet and he really wanted to puke. He rested his head against the rail and felt bile rise in his throat.  
  
Thomas leaned across the rail and literally lost his lunch.  
  
“Wow there, boy, you feeling all right?”  
  
Thomas wearily looked to the speaker and saw that it was _Captain John Smith_. Embarrassed - who’d want to be caught vomiting by the great Smith? - he wiped his mouth on his hand and straightened up.  
  
Smith was smiling at him, his long blonde hair billowing in the slight sea breeze. Thomas felt so puny next to him, all young and inexperienced. Coughing, he ran a hand along the back of his neck - wrong hand. _Gross._  
  
“Feeling fine, Mr. Smith, sir,” Thomas replied.  
  
John Smith laughed and slapped Thomas on the shoulder. Off-balanced, Thomas stumbled forward a bit, then laughed wearily, half-smiling.

"You're Thomas, right?"

“Yes, sir.” Thomas couldn’t believe it; John Smith - the John Smith - was talking to him, _him_!  
  
“Well, Thomas, you can call me John. In fact, I insist on it.”

 “Oh. Very well, sir-John. John.” Thomas grinned.

 The ship suddenly turned and Thomas flew away from Smith. His stomach rocked and churned. _Oh no, not again._ He leaned over the rail and threw up.

 “Thomas, are you sure you feel up to snuff?”

 “Just…a little…” But before Thomas could say ‘nauseous,’ vomit rose up again in his throat and he gagged, flopping onto the rail like a fish out of water.

  _Water._ God, he was beginning to hate water.

 “You’ll get your sea legs soon, Thomas,” John Smith assured the boy, taking a slow step back - the smell of sick clotted the air. “You’ll see.”

 “I hope so.”

 Thomas was now too busy puking to feel embarrassed.

 

**Wiggins**

 

Ratcliffe snapped his fingers, flicking his head a little; Wiggins ran up to his side. “Sir?”

 “My hair, Wiggins - attend to my hair.”

 “Yes, sir!”

 Wiggins cheerfully took Ratcliffe’s thick raven hair in his hands and began to comb at it - it was a little tangled from earlier when the two of them had gotten a little…erm…let’s just say ‘unprofessional.'

 Wiggins began to hum, smiling and running his long, nimble fingers through a particularly nasty tangle. Ratcliffe cried out.

 “Watch it, you damned - ow!”

 “Oh, sorry, sorry,” Wiggins mumbled, sliding his fingers out - the tangle was being so _stubborn_! “Bad hair.”

 “Wiggins, are you talking to my hair?”

 “Yes!” Wiggins replied chipperly. “I’ve always found that talking to things helps them work better.”

 Ratcliffe sneered and took a deep breath, staring straight ahead.

 Wiggins began humming again and got back to his combing. Ratcliffe had nice hair. Maybe, later, when he was in his cabin, he’d draw it! Ooh, yes, excellent idea! He could see it…the way it shimmered in the light… He felt the rough equivalent of drunk.

 Ratcliffe’s hair finally began to cooperate and Wiggins danced to one side of the other man, starting the final brushing process. Very carefully, he picked up the clump of hair in his hand and ran the brush through it until the hair was free of tangles, all smooth and silky. Wiggins pulled a red ribbon out from behind his ear and tied the hair in a beautiful bow. It was crooked. He leaned closer to it and picked at it with his fingers, straightening it.

 Ratcliffe eyed Wiggins out of the corner of his eye. “What on earth are you doing now?”

 “The bow’s crooked,” Wiggins replied, leaning back a little - it needed to be a wee bit more to the right. He got back to work. “Just a little more…”

 Ratcliffe slapped Wiggins away with the back of his hand. “Worthless freak! It’s fine! Hurry up, I have better things to do than wait for you to get my hair up to your picky standards.”

 Wiggins shrugged and shuffled to Ratcliffe’s other side, where he quickly did another bow. Ugh, it was so messy and- Wiggins looked away, trying to think about his drawing, not the crooked braid.

 Ratcliffe took one look at himself in the looking-glass and grabbed the front of Wiggins’s shirt, dragging the other man closer. He pulled Wiggins off the floor and glared at him. “Do it right.”

 “Yes, sir!”

 So Wiggins did it again. And again.

 And again.

It was then that Ratcliffe was finally satisfied and Wiggins could get to his drawing briefly - very briefly, though, since he quickly had to tail along after Ratcliffe some more, obeying his every command at a second’s notice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thomas**

 

“Full anchor release!”  
  
“Come on, lads, come on!”  
  
A cold wind whistled through the sharp, wet air. Thomas bustled around, trying to figure out what to do. Rain battered down and men were running everywhere. The ship tossed and it turned and Thomas resisted the now-familiar urge to run to the rail.  
  
“Give me a hand, someone!”  
  
“Watch out!”  
  
He ran over to one of the cannons, which was sliding around on the deck, and began to wrap a rope around it.  
  
“Faster! She’s taking up more water!”  
  
“Look out!”  
  
The rope broke! Thomas threw his entire soaking body on top of it and looked around helplessly. _Where’s John - he’ll know what to do!_ Glancing up, he saw Smith helping some of the men tie down the main sail.

“John!” Thomas called, slipping a little on the wet deck. Lightning crashed and thunder roared. “Get down here! The cannons are breaking loose!”

“Reef the topsails!” John cried as he swung down on a rope.

“Aye, sir!” Smith ran over to Thomas.

“Steady on the course!” Smith barked. He stood next to Thomas, throwing himself onto the cannon next to the boy. “It’s all right, Thomas - we’ll get her tied off.”

Thomas began to feel better - if John Smith said that things would be all right, then they’d be all right.

And then Smith had his hand on top of his-

“Say your prayers, lad!”

The ship jumped up as a monstrous wave pushed its way under it. The deck became sprayed with stinging salt water and Thomas coughed, closing his eyes.

“Look out!”

“Oh no!”

“Thomas, watch out!” Smith shouted.

Thomas glanced up just in time to see the great wave rushing towards him and John. He cried out and it shoved into him. He was swept backwards - Smith managed to grab a rope - and the rail broke; Thomas felt himself falling downward.

“Help!” he cried.

The water stung upon impact and his teeth began to clang together. He struggled to stay up - his father’s hat felt like a terrible weight on his head and it was so hard to stay afloat. He gasped and spluttered. “Help!”

“Stay your course!” someone on the ship cried. “He’s lost.”

“Help!” Thomas cried as loud as he could. _Please, oh_ please _let someone have heard me._ It became harder and harder to stay above the water.

He heard Smith shout, “Pull the pin!”

“John!” Thomas coughed, water seeping into his throat.

“Aye, sir!”

The world slowly started to go black and Thomas hacked, flailing his arms around. He pinched his eyes shut and prepared for the inevitable.

“Hang on, Thomas, I’ve got you.”

He couldn’t see anything, but…someone was pulling him through the water, and then he was flying. Soaring, even. Faintly, he wondered if that was it. He was dead, being taken up to Heaven by an angel.

However, he was still alive. Next thing he knew, Thomas rolled onto a wet surface. He coughed into consciousness, looking around. He was lying down on the deck. He scrambled onto his knees and hacked repeatedly.

“There, me lucky lad,” Ben soothed, wrapping a blanket around Thomas.

“Well, that was refreshing,” Smith commented with a chuckle. Thomas looked over at him; he was wet. _Wait,_ he thought. _He saved me?_

“Well done, Smith,” Lon said. Smith laughed and plopped Thomas’s wet and heavy hat back where it belonged - on Thomas’s head. Thomas grinned, adjusting the hat back into its proper position.

“Of course,” Smith stated, beginning to stand up. Thomas glanced up at him and found he couldn’t take his eyes away. “You’d all do the same for me.”

Thomas was cold and wet, but he felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

 

##  **Wiggins**

At length, the swaying stopped. Wiggins shook his head free of some sea water that had seeped in through the roof of his cabin and peaked outside. A large and meaty hand grabbed his wrist and he was flung out. The next thing he saw was Ratcliffe’s slightly murderous, yet still ineffably distinguished gaze. Then he saw that Ratcliffe held his pug, Percy.

“Hello, doggy,” Wiggins cooed, reaching a finger under the pug’s chin. The animal squirmed away, sticking his nose into Ratcliffe’s large stomach.

“Wiggins,” Ratcliffe addressed, letting go of the man's wrist. “Hold my umbrella. I do not want to be wet, understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Wiggins ducked into his cabin and pulled Ratcliffe’s umbrella out from behind some doodled-on parchments. Then he grabbed a lantern and hurried out, opening the umbrella the instant he stepped outside.

“Opening an umbrella indoors is bad luck,” he mumbled, stepping onto his tippy-toes in order to completely cover the rather large and rather tall Ratcliffe.

Ratcliffe rolled his eyes at Wiggins's words and walked on. Now rather wet, Wiggins scurried after him, shaking himself like a dog every so often.

They walked onto the deck and Wiggins looked around, wondering what it’d be like to paint the messy, wet scene before him. He hadn’t brought any paints with him, unfortunately - maybe he could take some of the savages’ war paint when they got to the New World-

“Trouble on deck?” Ratcliffe asked, peering down at his crew.

“Governor Ratcliffe!” a young, new addition to the crew cried. He’d been sitting on the deck, wrapped in a blanket - he quickly got up.

Wiggins looked at him halfheartedly. The boy had red hair and blue-green eyes, the kind of eyes that looked vibrant emerald in certain lights. He was sopping wet and had a wet thing on his head that Wiggins assumed was a hat.

“Thomas fell overboard, sir,” John Smith said, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

_Thomas,_ Wiggins repeated in his mind. _Nice name._

“Thank heavens he’s been successfully retrieved,” Ratcliffe stated, not particularly sounding emotional over having nearly lost a crewman. “Well done, Smith.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t lose heart, men,” Ratcliffe began, puffing out his chest and stepping down onto the main deck. Wiggins hurried after him, trying desperately to keep the umbrella over Ratcliffe’s head - if there was one thing about Ratcliffe he did not like, it was his nasty temper.

“It won’t be long before we reach the New World,” Ratcliffe continued, pacing in front of his largest group of men, “and remember what awaits us there - freedom…”

Percy barked once.

“Prosperity…”

Percy barked twice.

“The adventure of our lives,” Ratcliffe finished, walking over to another clump. Wiggins sighed and lowered the lantern - his arms hurt. “You are the finest crew England has to offer and nothing, not wind nor rain nor a thousand bloodthirsty savages shall stand in our way. Carry on, men!”

The sailors all cheered and Ratcliffe walked off. Wiggins stared at where Ratcliffe had stood, then hurried after the other man.

“A stirring oration, sir,” Wiggins declared, shaking some water out of his eyes. “I’m sure the men were most exhilara-” A heavy gust of wind pulled on the umbrella, dragging Wiggins away a few feet. He tugged it back over to Ratcliffe. “-ted,” he completed

“Let’s hope so,” Ratcliffe chuckled. He raised Percy up and asked the pug, “I’ll need those witless peasant to dig up my gold, won’t I?” Percy growled and gave the doggy equivalent of a grin.

“Yes, sir,” Wiggins replied. In all honesty, he could have cared less about the gold, but he didn’t dare tell Ratcliffe that, at risk of unleashing Ratcliffe’s temper.

Yawning like a lion, Ratcliffe stretched one arm high into the air, then transitioned Percy into the just-stretched arm and stretched his other arm. Wiggins had to work to keep the umbrella over his employer while not having it get hit.

“Well, off to bed,” Ratcliffe sighed, twirling his hair in his fingers. He turned to Wiggins. “Deal with Percy and I’ll see you shortly. You have one hour.”

Wiggins grinned and handed Ratcliffe the lantern. Then he took Percy into his free hand. “Yes, sir!”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Thomas**

 

Thomas stole a glance over at Smith. They were tying up the cannon that had broken loose, and Smith seemed to do everything with such ease, such grace. Thomas admired that.  
  
“This New World’s going to be great, John,” Thomas remarked as Smith threw an end of the rope over at him. Thomas began to tie up the cannon and Smith smiled at him. “I’m going to get a pile of gold, build me a big house, and if any Indian tried to stop me, I’ll blast him.”  
  
Smith chuckled at Thomas’s words and it took all of Thomas’s energy not to grin even bigger. “You just worry about that fortune of yours, Thomas.” Smith slung the rope over his shoulder and began to drag the cannon away. Thomas eagerly pushed it along behind him. “Leave the savages to me.”  
  
“You think they’ll give us much trouble?” Lon wondered, stepping in and taking the cannon from Thomas. Thomas looked at him in surprise - he’d forgotten that he and Smith weren’t completely alone on that big, oceanic expanse.  
  
“Not as much trouble as Smith’ll give them!” Ben laughed, popping the feather out of an old man’s cap. He stuck it onto the top of the mop he held and ducked behind some barrels, making Indian war cries.  
  
 _Go away, all of you,_ Thomas thought, working hard to keep the smile on his face.  
  
The sailors sang: “ _We’ll kill ourselves and injun.”_  
 _  
_“ _Or maybe two or three,”_ Smith added, chopping off the "head" of Ben’s "Indian"; the “head” popped down onto Ben’s real head. Smith then turned to the barrel of wine and jabbed the tip of his sword into the cap, pulling it out. Purple liquid spilled onto the deck and men stuck glasses in the waterfall of wine.

Then they all sang together - “ _We’re stalwart men and bold of the Virginia Company.”_  
  
“What do you suppose the New World will look like?” Thomas wondered, following Smith up to the crow’s nest.  
  
Smith shrugged - perfectly, Thomas thought. “Like all the others, I suppose.” He climbed onto the crow’s nest and Thomas scrambled up after him. _How can anyone be so absolutely perfect and wonderful and amazing?_ he thought giddishly. “I’ve seen hundreds of New Worlds, Thomas. What could possibly be different about this one?”  
  
What indeed.  


##  **Wiggins**

“Land ho!”  
  
Wiggins sat up in bed and scrambled quietly across Ratcliffe’s snoring body, peaking out the porthole. _Land?_ he thought, sticking his head out. _Where? All I see is fog._  
  
Then he saw it and gave an involuntarily happy gasp.  
  
Large trees reached high into the sky, their large needles sipping in the shining air. Leaves of all colors danced past him and he glanced down at the clear, sparkling water, where some fish did pirouettes. He was about to look up at the sky and see if there was a sunrise - he loved dawn and dusk, all those breathtaking colors mashed together? - but was yanked back. His larynx banged against the window and he felt all his breath get whooshed out of him. He coughed and looked up at Ratcliffe.  
  
Ratcliffe did not look good when he first woke up. Wiggins squeaked and clutched his neck, gagging. With his other hand, he clutched the side of the porthole.

“What were you looking at?” Ratcliffe hissed

Wiggins tried to speak, but just gargled. He wheezed and massaged his throat.  
  
“Tell me!” Ratcliffe grabbed Wiggins by the shoulders and shook him. Wiggins's head jerked back and he heard something snap in his neck.  
  
“Land!” Wiggins coughed out. Ratcliffe's jaw dropped and he let go of Wiggins. The Governor looked eagerly out the porthole and Wiggins took this opportunity to breathe. With one hand wrapped around his stomach and the other pressed against his throat, he felt a little better.  
  
“Land,” Ratcliffe breathed. “Wiggins, quick - dress me.”

  
“Yes, sir.” Wiggins shook his head and breathed. Good - back to normal. He hated it when Ratcliffe accidentally hurt him like that.  
  
There was a knock at the door and Ratcliffe shoved Wiggins away, giving him a glare - Wiggins knew what this meant: get under the covers and don’t utter a peep. He pulled the blankets over his head.  
  
“Ahem, yes?” he heard Ratcliffe ask as a door creaked open.  
  
“We’ve seen land, Governor,” a man replied. “We should be reaching it within the next two hours.”  
  
“Good," Ratcliffe replied. "Now go.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
The bedcovers were thrown back and Wiggins was picked up and placed onto the floor. Wiggins glanced down at his nightshirt - if Ratcliffe kept picking him up by his clothes that way, he’d cause a tear in each and every article of clothing Wiggins owned.  
  
“Before we were interrupted?” Ratcliffe prompted, untying his left night-braid.  
  
“Right!” Wiggins stepped forward and Ratcliffe shoved him away, sneering.  
  
“You were dressing me.”  
  
“Oh!” Wiggins giggled. “That.” Ratcliffe rolled his eyes and shook his hair loose.

❧ ❧ ❧

Later, Wiggins was brushing Percy while Ratcliffe looked greedily out at the now-closer New World.

“Look at it, Wiggins,” rhe Governor sighed. “An entire New World, chock full of gold, just waiting for me.”  
  
“And scores of adventures waiting for us, right, Percy?” Wiggins smiled at the dog, hugging it. He put down the hairbrush and picked up a bottle of perfume. He spritzed the dog, looking over at Ratcliffe. “Do you think we’ll meet some savages?”  
  
“If we do, we should be sure to give them a proper English greeting,” Ratcliffe stated.  
  
“Ooh!” Wiggins cried, bending down. “Gift baskets!” He pulled up four baskets filled with bowed bottles of wine, some cheese and bread. Wiggins then grinned at Ratcliffe, who looked at him pityingly.  
  
Sighing, Ratcliffe turned away and pulled a map out of his large stash. “And he came so highly recommended.”  
  
Ratcliffe sat down at his table, unrolling the map. Percy hopped off his velvet pillow and walked over to his master. Wiggins was about to thank Ratcliffe for the lovely compliment when John Smith entered the cabin, blonde hair bouncing.  
  
“It’s perfect, Governor,” Smith announced, slamming his hands down on the table. “The water’s deep enough, we can pull right up to shore.” Smith glanced down at Percy, who had gone back to his pillow. “Hey there, Percy.” Smith ruffled Percy’s recently-brushed head and the dog growled, putting a paw on his now-messy grey hair.  
  
“Very well, then,” Ratcliffe replied, looking down at his map. “Give the order.”  
  
“Already done, sir.” Smith rested a hand on his hip. “I’ve got a crew assembled and they’re ready to go.”  
  
“About the natives,” Ratcliffe continued, rolling up the map. Wiggins frowned at him - he may not have been smart, but even he could tell that Ratcliffe did not particularly like Smith’s presence. Wiggins couldn’t see why, though - Smith was perfect in every way…great reputation, popularity, even looks that Ratcliffe could only dream of. Now, what was to hate about that?  
  
“I’m counting on you to make sure those filthy heathens don’t disrupt our mission,” Ratcliffe reminded Smith, waggling the map at him.  
  
“Well, if they’re anything like the savages I’ve fought before, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Right.” Ratcliffe poured himself a glass of wine. “That’ll be all, Smith, there’s a good man.”  
  
John Smith nodded and turned to Percy. “See yah, Percy.” He rubbed the dog’s head again and the pug pouted, snarling at him. Smith walked out and Ratcliffe sighed, putting his drink down on the table.  
  
“The men like Smith, don’t they?” Ratcliffe commented longingly, walking over to the looking-glass. He peered at himself in the reflection. “I’ve never been a…popular man.”  
  
“I like you,” Wiggins replied chipperly, stepping next to Ratcliffe. He held the Governor's belt. Wiggins stepped behind Ratcliffe and slid his arms around Ratcliffe’s large waist.  
  
“And don’t think I don’t know what those backstabbers at court say about me,” Ratcliffe mumbled.  
  
“Oh yes,” Wiggins remarkeded, clicking the belt shut, “all that talk about you being a pathetic social climber who’s failed at everything he’s-”  
  
Ratcliffe interrupted him. “I’m very well aware that this is my last chance for glory.” Wiggins pulled Ratcliffe’s pink cloak off the peg by the door and slid it on the Governor's shoulders. “But mark my words, Wiggins, when King James sees the gold these peasants unearth, success will be mine at last.” Wiggins smoothed out the pink cloak and brushed some dust off it with the special brush. Then Wiggins plopped Ratcliffe’s pink hat on his head, barely hearing the man’s words. Something about peasants, gold, and the King?


	4. Chapter 4

**Thomas**

 

The boat dropped into the water with a great splash.  
  
“It’s incredible,” Lon gaped, staring at the vast expanse of land. Green, green, green - it was a vast improvement over the ocean, that was for sure.  
  
“And it’s all ours,” Thomas agreed with a awed gasp. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”  
  
“It can look like Ratcliffe’s knickers, for all I care,” Ben said, walking up to them with the roll-up ladder, “just as long as we get off this stinking boat.” He threw the ladder over the side of the ship.  
  
“Come on, men,” Smith announced, walking over to them, helmet gleaming in the sunlight. He swung his legs over the side of the ship and began to climb down. “We didn’t come all this way just to look at it.” Thomas followed him down the ladder.  
  
“Right, right, right,” the men mumbled, descending the ladder one at a time. Thomas somehow found himself getting a seat as close to John as was humanely possible, at the head of the boat. This meant he had to row all by himself.  
  
It was worth it.  
  
Meanwhile, Smith stood at the very head of the boat and looked out towards the nearing land.

As they rowed towards land, they were enveloped by an eerie fog and all the green plants seemed to shimmer and sparkle in the warped light. Thomas glanced up at Smith and saw that the captain was looking around with the same commanding air that made Thomas’s heart beat faster. Thomas swallowed and looked back down at his rowing, trying to wrap his mind around his emotions. _Keep calm, it’s perfectly natural to feel awed by him_.

  
The men climbed out of the boat and tied it to shore.

❧ ❧ ❧

They began to drag the ship closer to shore - first Lon, then Ben, Thomas, and Smith.

The ship was very heavy.  
  
“Keep it taut, lads, keep it taut!” Ben shouted. “Steady, steady.”  
  
“Ah, that’s far enough!” Lon yelled. “All right now, tie her off.”  
  
“Here, John, tie up this end,” Thomas grunting, throwing back the remainder of the rope. Instead of feeling someone pick it up and tighten their grip on it, the rope seemed to remain left on the ground. Thomas glanced behind and saw that Smith wasn’t there. “John?” he called. “John?”  
  
He looked around and saw that John Smith was climbing a tree. “What are you doing up there?” Thomas asked.  
  
“Getting a better look!” Smith yelled back. Thomas sighed and pulled the rope over to a tree. He tied it up.  
  
“Thomas, that’s not how you tie a rope,” Lon stated, coming over. “You tied a granny knot - you need to do a sailor’s hitch or we’ll end up losing the ship and getting stranded. Here, let me show you the hitch.”  
  
Lon showed Thomas proper rope-tying methods, and Thomas nodded slowly, too choked to do much else. First he got seasick, _then_ he fell overboard, _then_ he tied a rope wrong - could he do _anything_ right?  
  
 _It’s a miracle John even talks to me,_ Thomas thought with a quiet sigh.

“The Governor’s coming!” Ben called; there was a great trumpet fanfare. Thomas glanced over at the ship and saw that Ratcliffe was getting some men to lay down the ramp for him so he could cross the water and get to shore. For once, he wasn’t being followed by his little servant, Wiggins. Thomas wondered where Wiggins was but then decided that he didn’t care - who cared, really?  
  
“John!” he called up to Smith. “You better get down here - the Governor’s coming ashore!”  
  
“All right, all right, I’m leaving!” Smith shouted back. Thomas turned away.

 

##  **Wiggins**

  
“Oh, your hair’s all messy, Percy!” Wiggins cried as he bathed the pug. He picked up Percy’s hairbrush. “Well, we’d better brush you again, now shouldn’t we?”  
  
Percy grunted and rolled his eyes, almost as if he was thinking, _About time._  
  
Wiggins gently ran the bush through Percy’s tangles and glanced out the porthole. Oh, from where he was, he could see Ratcliffe walking to shore!  
  
 _His cloak’s all crooked_ , Wiggins thought. He put the hairbrush down and picked up some perfume; he spritzed Percy, then picked the brush back up.  
  
“I hereby claim this land and all its riches in the name of His Majesty King James the first, and do so name this settlement Jamestown!” Ratcliffe thundered, placing a British flag into the dirt. Wiggins cheered with the other men.  
  
“Bravo! Bravo!” he cried, waving the hairbrush down at Ratcliffe. “Beautifully spoken, sir!” He ducked back inside. “Hurry now, Percy.” He ran the brush along Percy’s little paw. “We must be all squeaky clean for the New World!”  
  
Almost oozing with excitement, Wiggins ran off to get a towel for Percy. However, when he came back, there was water and soap all over the floor and Percy was nowhere to be found!

“Percy?” Wiggins called. “Percy, boy, where are you?” He hurried around the room, checking every nook and cranny, but Percy was no where to be found. Frantic, Wiggins ran towards the doorway, but slipped in a puddle of soap and went down with a scream.  
  
“All right, don’t panic, don’t panic,” he mumbled to himself. “Just search the rest of the ship - he’s got to be here somewhere…”  
  
“Wiggins! Wiggins!”  
  
Wiggins sighed and stood up. _We’ll just not tell John that Percy is missing_ , he decided, throwing the towel over his shoulder. He ran out onto the deck and down the ramp to shore.  
  
Stepping onto land, he suddenly heard a pathetic little doggy whimper and looked down. Poor little Percy was lying there, immersed in mud, his little blue bath cap all askew.  
  
“Percy!” Wiggins cried, bending down. “Oh, thank heavens you’re all right.” He pulled the pug out of the mud, getting mud on his clothes in the process. He wrapped the animal up in his arms.  
  
“You’ve been a bad wittle doggy, you hear me, Percy?” Wiggins scolded, tapping Percy on the nose. “Don’t ever run off like that again. You have no idea what John would do if he-”  
  
“ _Wiggins!”_  
  
Wiggins glanced over at Ratcliffe, who had his back to him some thirty feet off. Wiggins pulled the towel off his shoulders and bundled the pug up in it.  
  
“Coming, sir!”  
  
Wiggins ran over to Ratcliffe and tapped him on the shoulder. Ratcliffe jumped and turned. “For God’s sake, Wiggins, don’t scare me like that!”  
  
“Sorry, sir,” Wiggins apologized. “You made me hurry - Percy’s not done with his bath…”  
  
“Well, then go back to the ship and finish it!” Ratcliffe snapped. “Honestly, can’t you do anything right?”  
  
Wiggins glanced down at Percy, adjusting the towel a bit.  
  
“Make the bath quick,” Ratcliffe ordered.  
  
“Yes, sir.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Thomas**

 

Thomas groaned and sighed. With a great big flop, he then sat down on a crate and stretched his feet out, twirling his ankles in a vain effort to loosen them. Then he fell limply forward and stared down at the ground.

  
“Tired already, are yeh, Thomas?” Ben wondered, coming over and slapping the boy on the back. Thomas jerked forward a bit by the force of the slap.

  
“Yes, I am tired,” Thomas answered, sitting up and running his hand along the back of his neck. “It’s been a wild day.”

  
“Don’t go to bed yet,” Ben warned. “Knowing Ratcliffe, we’ll be put to work any second now.”

  
Thomas halfheartedly smiled and nodded in agreement.

  
“Some food oughtta wake yah up,” Ben decided. “Why don’t you go to the ship and bring us some'ting to eat? I’ll be over there with Lon.” He gestured with his head over to where Lon was talking with some of the other men.

  
“Sure,” Thomas agreed. “Though I’m not sure you can call hardtack and gruel ‘food.’”

  
Ben laughed and slapped Thomas on the back again. “You can’t at that, now can yeh? Go on, theh!”

  
Thomas stood up and went over to the ship, walking past groups of men standing around, talking about the New World. Thomas hurried up the ramp.

 

 _The stuff should be in the galley,_ he told himself, going over in that direction. He went into the galley, got what he needed, and then walked towards the ramp, holding a bag that held the foodstuff close to his chest.

  
“Now, Percy, we aren’t going to be running off again, are we? No we are not. We’re going to be a good doggy and stay at the camp, close to Uncle Felix, yes we are.”

  
Thomas stopped walking and peered around, wondering where he’d heard that voice.

  
“There - all clean. Come on, Percy, out of the tub now.”

  
 _It seems to be coming from that door there._ Thomas went over to the door and pressed against it, slowly pushing it open. He saw Ratcliffe’s manservant, Wiggins, pulling Ratcliffe’s pug out of an ornate tub of bubbles. Wiggins was sopping wet and had a muddy towel slung over his left shoulder.

  
“There,” Wiggins stated, “now I'll just go find a dry towel, and then-”

  
Thomas felt the door give away, and, crying out, he fell forward into the room. Wiggins whirled toward the door, clutching Percy close to his chest.

  
“Oh, I am so sorry!” Thomas apologized, attempting to stand up. But he slid on some soap and fell back to the ground. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I thought I was alone here, and-”

  
“Quite all right, quite all right,” Wiggins interrupted, setting the dog down on the table. He walked to the other side of the room, picked up a dry towel from a shelf, then began to scrub Percy dry. “No trouble, I was just surprised by your sudden intrusion.”

  
“Oh.” Thomas bit his lip, shifting uncomfortably onto his feet. He glanced down at the bag in his hands and cleared his throat.

  
“Well, I’ll be going now,” he announced. “So, if you don’t mind-”

  
“Oh, you’re leaving?” Wiggins asked. “What a coincidence, Percy and I are ready!” Grinning, Wiggins tossed the towel onto the table behind him and scooped the pug up into his arms.

Thomas blinked at him. “Um.”

  
“We can walk together!” Wiggins exclaimed. He strolled over to Thomas and linked arms with him. “Come along, then.” He dragged Thomas out the door. “Your name is Thomas, yes?”

  
“Yes, that’s right.”

  
“Lovely name, lovely name. Tell me, what does it mean?”

  
“Um, I don’t know,” Thomas replied. Wiggins clicked his tongue.

  
“You should always know what you name means. Believe me, it says a whole lot about yourself.” Wiggins stopped suddenly. “Oh, dear, I do believe I’ve forgotten something. Take Percy, will you? Thank you!”

  
Wiggins shoved the pug into Thomas’s arms and hurried back into the room. Thomas watched him go and looked down at the dog. Percy looked up at him and growled. Thomas recoiled, holding the animal a good ways away from him.

  
 _Somebody help me,_ he thought.

  
“Thank you,” Wiggins said, sliding up next to Thomas and taking Percy back. Thomas was only so happy to get rid of the mutt.

  
“What did you have to get?” Thomas asked as they walked up towards the deck.

  
“Just my gardening sheers,” Wiggins replied. “I want to make art out of some of those bushes.” He giggled and Thomas nodded slowly, not seeing the point of making “art out of some of those bushes.”

  
They walked out onto the deck and Wiggins paused, looking out at the woods. Thomas stopped walking and looked curiously at the queer man.

  
“The New World certainly is pretty, isn’t it?” Wiggins wondered, petting Percy.

  
“Very nice,” Thomas agreed. _Would it be rude to walk away?_ he wondered.

  
“You know, I don’t think we should be cutting all this down,” Wiggins continued, stroking Percy’s chin with one long, thin finger. “Well, not much of it, anyway.”

  
“Oh?" Thomas asked.

“Yes!” Wiggins turned to him and nodded enthusiastically. “One should never kill beauty, unless completely necessary.”

  
“You don’t think we should be colonizing?” Thomas shockingly was beginning to find this conversation rather interesting. He stepped up next to Wiggins.

  
The manservant suddenly seemed uncomfortable. He shifted Percy from one arm to the other and back again. “I shouldn’t be talking about this,” he eventually said, his words rushed. “Governor Ratcliffe will be upset with me. I’m sorry.” He bowed his head and ran to the ramp.

  
“Wait!” Thomas called, rushing after him. He reached a hand out and held Wiggins by the sleeve. The other man looked back at him, his shoulders brushing his ears.

  
“Let go, please!” Wiggins begged. “If he finds out…” He gave a squeak and began to shake. “Don’t tell anyone we talked, please oh please!”

  
“Why?” Thomas asked, confused.

  
“Just don’t, please!” Wiggins looked into Thomas’s eyes with a begging look and Thomas couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking right then.

  
But instead of asking, he nodded slowly. He let Wiggins go.

  
Wiggins relaxed and reached an arm out, as if to hug Thomas, but then he stopped. He looked at his arm, sighed, then stepped back. He turned and ran off.

  
Thomas watched him go.

 

##  **Wiggins**

“Wiggins!” Ratcliffe called. Wiggins looked up from his reflection in the ocean and hurried over to the Governor.

  
“Yes, sir?” he asked.

Ratcliffe put a soft hand on Wiggins’s back and steered him to a hidden spot behind some crates. “I saw you talking with that Thomas boy earlier.”

  
Wiggins completely froze, smile vanishing from his face.

  
 _I never should have walked with him_ , he thought. _What was I_ thinking _?_

  
When Wiggins had recovered himself, he cautiously peeked over at Ratcliffe and saw that the other man was looking at him furiously.

  
The hand came like a flash of lightning.

  
“I don’t want to have it happen again, understood?”

  
“Yes, sir.” Wiggins closed his eyes and blinked to keep himself from crying.

  
“Good.” Ratcliffe turned, beckoning for Wiggins to follow him. They marched out from behind the crates.

  
“Ah, Captain Smith!” Ratcliffe called, walking over to John Smith, who was looking out into the woods. Smith gave Ratcliffe a brief glance.

  
“It appears I’ve selected the perfect location, eh?” Ratcliffe continued, laughing to himself. “Not a savage in sight.”

  
“Just because we don’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not out there, sir,” Smith coolly replied.

  
Ratcliffe tensed. “Well then, perhaps you should venture forth and determine their whereabouts, hmm?”

  
“If there are any Indians out there, I’ll find them,” Smith assured him, already making his way into the woods, rifle swung over his shoulder. Ratcliffe walked over to his men.

  
“Now, gentlemen!” he cried, summoning them all to attention. “To work! You men, get the ship unloaded.”

  
“Right, sir.”

  
“You men build the fort…” Men shuffled off.

  
“The rest of you - break out the shovels!” Ratcliffe announced, clasping two men’s shoulders. “It’s time to start digging.”

“Digging?” the two men chimed, looking at each other.

  
“Why, of course,” Ratcliffe stated, going over to a crate. He rolled out his map and then seemed to start drooling over it. However, Wiggins knew for a fact that it was just a map of the Americas, so what could honestly be so special about? “Let’s not forget what the Spanish found when _they_ came to the New World.

  
“Gold,” Ratcliffe sighed. “ _Mountains_ of it. Why, for _years_ they’ve been ravaging the New World, robbing it of its most precious resources. But _now_.” Ratcliffe pulled out his jewel-encrusted dagger and plunged it into the map. Wiggins started.

  
Ratcliffe smiled around at his men. “It’s our turn.”

  
He began singing, bending down and gesturing to his dagger.

_The gold of Cortéz_

_The jewels of Pizarro_

_Will seem like mere trinkets_

_By this time tomorrow_

Ratcliffe climbed onto the crate and began to swing his sword around. Men ducked so their heads wouldn’t get chopped off.

  
 _That would be messy, wouldn’t it?_ Wiggins thought. Meanwhile, Ratcliffe sang.

_The gold we find here_

_Will dwarf them by far_

Ratcliffe brought in his cloak, smiling sweetly out at his men, who looked at him with bewildered expressions on their faces.

_Oh, with all ya got in ya, boys_

Ratcliffe opened up his cloak, revealing two hands filled with shovels. He threw them out to his men.

_Dig up Virginia, boys_

_Mine, boys, mine, every mountain_

Wiggins hurried over to Ratcliffe, carrying an armful of picks. He gave them to Ratcliffe, smiling, and waited to be given further orders.

  
Ratcliffe threw two picks over to two men, who dropped the barrel they were holding - nearly on Percy, Wiggins saw in shock.

_And dig, boys, dig till ya drop_

Ratcliffe wrapped a pick around a man’s neck and hurried over to that boy, Thomas. He stepped behind him, grabbing both ends of the shovel Thomas held and mocking digging, forcing Thomas to do a sort of tango with him. Thomas looked confused and even a little disturbed. Wiggins giggled quietly to himself, causing a few stares from some of the men.

_Grab a pick, boys_

_Quick, boys_

_Shove in a shovel_

Ratcliffe bent down with Thomas and the two dug out some dirt, throwing it over their heads so it sprinkled like rain onto the men behind them. Ratcliffe let go of Thomas.

_Uncover those lovely_

_Pebbles that sparkle and shine_

_It’s gold_

Ratcliffe smiled at his men, pulling out his gold handgun.

_And it’s mine, mine, mine_

He plugged an ear and shot a bullet high into the air. It broke through the quiet air of Virginia with a crack, sending the men on their ways to dig. Wiggins grabbed a wheelbarrow and steered it around, collecting dirt - it would be wrong to leave a mess, even out in that savage land.

  
Meanwhile, the Englishmen sang, pushing their shovels into the pure earth-

_Dig and dig and dig and diggety_

_Dig and dig and dig and diggety-dig_

Wiggins wanted to join in on the fun. However, he was never very good when it came to thinking up things on the spot, so he decided to settle for some nonsense.

_Hi nonny nonny_

_Hi nonny nonny_

He steered himself over towards Ratcliffe, who stopped Wiggins's wheelbarrow with his foot. Ratcliffe reached for the hand shovel resting in the dirt and picked it up, letting the dirt sprinkle to the ground.

“Ooh, how I love it!” Ratcliffe laughed.

  
“ _Hi nonny nonny, hi nonny nonny,”_ Wiggins repeated, running around with the wheelbarrow. He weaved his way through countless men digging, cutting down trees, and basically ruining the Virginian forest.

  
“Riches for cheap,” Ratcliffe added as he oversaw the felling of a tree. “Hey, Wiggins!”

  
Wiggins hurried over and Ratcliffe climbed into the wheelbarrow. “Take me to the top of that mound of dirt, will you, Felix?”

  
Wiggins grinned. _Maybe he’s forgiven me for talking with Thomas!_ he thought. “Yes, sir!” As they ran through a group of men pushing wheelbarrows either way, Wiggins sang-

_Hi nonny nonny_

_Hi nonny nonny_

He pushed Ratcliffe up the requested dirt mound with significant ease. They sang, _"There'll be_ heaps _of it!"_ Then Ratcliffe sang-

_And I’ll be on top of the heap_

He raised his hands high, and, seeming to be in a trance, walked down the heap. Wiggins gave an exasperated breath and ran his handkerchief along his brow. Then he followed Ratcliffe down the heap of dirt, leaving the wheelbarrow behind for one of the men to deal with.

_My rivals back home_

_It’s not that I’m bitter_

_But think how they’ll squirm_

_When they see how I glitter_

Off in a fantasy, Ratcliffe held out a hand.

_The ladies at court_

_Will be all a-twitter_

Wiggins took Ratcliffe’s extended hand and kissed it until Ratcliffe pulled it away, walking off while still in his little fantasy.

_The king will reward me_

_He’ll knight me_

Ratcliffe bent down onto the earth and bowed his head nobly. Wiggins raised an eyebrow.

_No! Lord me!_

Ratcliffe pulled out his sword and raised it high, twirling into a standing position. He walked forward, slashing the air as men felled some more trees.

_It’s mine, mine, mine_

_For the taking_

Over at the sluice, an elderly man with only one eye was attempting to get some water into his pan. Ratcliffe whooshed over to him and shook him wildly. The man looked so frail in his arms, Wiggins couldn’t help but feel bad for him - he knew what it was like to be shaken like that.

_It’s mine, boys_

_Mine me that gold_

Poor little Percy plopped down on his pillow in exhaustion. Men with shovels shoveled him into the air and he landed safely in Ratcliffe's arms with a little doggy yelp. The Governor nestled him into his chest and Wiggins suddenly saw a random portrait of King James resting against a tree that was lucky to still be standing. He picked it up and ran over to Ratcliffe, preparing to ask what to do with it.

  
Ratcliffe meanwhile, was collecting every single valuable thing in a short radius. Wiggins plopped the portrait in front of him.

_With those nuggets dug_

_It’s glory they’ll give me_

_My dear friend King Jimmy_

_Will probably build me a shrine_

Ratcliffe shoved his face through that of King James’s on the portrait, grinning. _What a waste of such lovely art_ , Wiggins thought. Nevertheless, he sang with Ratcliffe...

_When all of the gold_

“ _Is mine!”_ Ratcliffe snarled.

  
The Englishmen dug and sang, their hopes raised high to the sky.

_Dig and dig and dig and diggety_

_Dig and dig and dig and diggety-dig_

“ _Keep on working, lads!”_ Ratcliffe sang, running over to a group of his men and dancing around them, spinning, his pink cloak flying everywhere. “ _Don’t be shirking, lads - mine, boys, mine, mine me that gold!”_

_  
"Dig, dig, diggety..."_

_  
“Beautiful gold!”_ Ratcliffe cried. Gorgeous brown dirt flew high into the air, and Wiggins tried not to think about all the plants that were going to suffer from the lack of soil.

 _  
“Dig, dig for that gold,”_ sang the men. Ratcliffe joined in on the next line, _“Make this island my land.”_

 _  
“Make the mounds big, boys!”_ Ratcliffe ordered, wrapping his arms around two men. _“I’d help you to dig, boys, but I’ve got this crick in me spine.”_

 _  
_Wiggins cocked his head at Ratcliffe, confused, since he knew for a fact that Ratcliffe didn’t have any cricks in his spine - in fact, his back was in very good condition.

 _  
“This beauty untold,”_ Ratcliffe continued, running over to a cannon.

 _  
_“Wiggins!” he called. “Take this cannon and follow me!”

 _  
_Wiggins nodded eagerly, pushing the cannon along after Ratcliffe, who marched over to some trees. Ratcliffe shoved Wiggins away and aimed the cannon towards the trees. Then he climbed on top of the cannon with a flaming stick.

 _  
_Grinning, Wiggins plugged his ears shut and watched as Ratcliffe lit the cannon. _“It all can be sold,”_ Ratcliffe sang, flying into the air as the cannon shot five or ten trees down.

 _  
“So go for the gold,”_ the Englishmen sang. Cannons shot loudly. _“We know which is here.”_

 _  
“Is,”_ Ratcliffe sang. Wiggins thought that things had gone too far - was it really necessary to blow down every single tree in sight?

 _  
“All the riches here…”_ the men sang.

 _  
“Mine!”_ Ratcliffe finished.

_  
“This land and what’s in it is…”_

_  
_Everyone sang, “Mine.”

  
Then, to top off the song, the digging men sang as the dirt flew…

_Dig and dig and diggety-dig_

_Hi nonny nonny, it’s mine_

Wiggins was overjoyed - his nonny-nonnies had stayed until the end! He’d contributed to something!

  
The men dug and blew down trees. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Singing. Well, what do you expect from a Disney film?


	6. Chapter 6

**Thomas**

 

It was hot, his back ached, and he was completely surrounded by dirt, dirt, and more dirt. When he’d joined the Virginia Company, no one had told him that he was going to spend the rest of his life surrounded by one unpleasantly after another.  
  
“At least there’s John,” he muttered, pushing his shovel into the dirt. He winced - no, he did not just say that.  
  
“That’s it, keep at it, men, keep digging,” Thomas heard Ratcliffe saying from somewhere high above. Thomas sighed. _Just keep digging._ “It’s got to be here somewhere.”  
  
“Somewhere,” Thomas mumbled. “Gotta be here somewhere.” He threw some dirt over his shoulder and the sun suddenly vanished. Looking up, he saw Ratcliffe’s large, round figure glaring down at him. He was eating a drumstick.  
  
“Anything yet?” the Governor asked.  
  
“Nothing but rocks and dirt, sir,” Thomas replied.  
  
“Um, how long are we gonna keep digging like this, sir?” he heard Lon wonder. Thomas turned back to his digging, trying to focus on nothing but the shovel entering the soil and out again. In-out, in-out, dig and dig and dig.  
  
 _Dig and dig and diggety-dig,_ he recalled. Then he sighed.  
  
So far, there was nothing he enjoyed about working for the Virginia Company except for meeting John Smith and discovering a New World. And even then-

“Wiggins! Wiggins!” Ratcliffe cried. Weary, Thomas glanced up and saw Ratcliffe holding his drumstick out to Wiggins, who, lucky dog, didn’t have to do any digging. Before he was so low into the ground he couldn't see anything on land, Thomas had seen the manservant trimming some bushes with those gardening sheers, and looking rather happy about doing so.  
  
“Dispose of this,” Ratcliffe ordered, holding out the barely-eaten drumstick to Wiggins, who took it eagerly.  
  
 _What a waste of good food,_ Thomas thought, his stomach growling.  
  
Ratcliffe walked off and Wiggins bent down to the ground. “Who’s a good doggy? Who’s a good doggy? Fetch, boy!”  
  
He threw the drumstick out into the woods. Thomas exhaled and turned back to his digging. _Don’t think about the pain, think about the gain. Think about John. John’ll-_  
  
“Savages!” Ratcliffe screamed. “It’s an ambush, arm yourselves!”  
  
“Run!” Wiggins cried.  
  
Thomas threw down his shovel and jumped up, pulling himself out of the deep hole he’d dug himself into. Grunting, he crawled away.  
  
“Arm yourselves!” Ratcliffe ordered. Somehow, Thomas found a rifle in his hands. He didn’t even have time to think about how he didn’t know how to handle a gun. In some bushes, he saw flashes of red skin.  
  
“Make sure every man has a musket! Shoot!”  
  
Thomas ran ahead, preparing to fire into the bushes, but tripped over a log and fell. He heard and felt the gun go off in his hands. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Ratcliffe staring down at the ground, with a water barrel bleeding in front of him.  
  
“Them, you idiot!” Ratcliffe yelled, turning and facing Thomas, whom he gave an accusatory point. Thomas bit his lip and sat up. The sound of gunfire and screaming filled the air. An arrow whizzed past Thomas and he gasped. Quickly, he went to the other side of the log and clutched the gun close to his chest.

_Oh, God, please don’t let this be the day I die. Let me dig a thousand years, but please don’t let me die this way._  
  
“Where’s that blasted Smith when I need him?” he heard Ratcliffe shout.  
  
Smith. Thomas felt his heart ache. _John would understand. Where is he?_  
  
Thomas’s musings were interrupted by the cheers of the Englishmen. He looked up and saw happy men all around him.  
  
“Shut up, shut up, you fools!” Ratcliffe barked. “They’ll be back. Everyone back to camp. Get the rest of the cannons ashore and finish building the fort!”  
  
“Aye, Governor!”  
  
“And _you_!” Ratcliffe sneered, whirling to face Thomas. Thomas looked up at him, feeling like a mouse cornered by a cat. “Learn to use that thing properly.” Thomas looked miserably down at the rifle, then back up at the Governor. “A man’s not a man unless he knows how to shoot.”  
  
Ratcliffe walked off and Thomas looked sadly back down the musket in his hands, then where Ratcliffe had stood. The gun seemed so heavy and lethal - Thomas didn’t want to shoot it, not ever. The rifle looked innocent, but it was dangerous. He could’ve killed someone.  
  
Blinking back the tears and trying to push down the rock in his throat, Thomas stood up, dragging the rifle along in the dirt after him.  
  


 

##  **Wiggins**

  
“Everyone back to camp!” Ratcliffe ordered. “Get the rest of the cannons ashore and finish building the fort!”  
  
The men gathered their things and trudged towards the designated camp area. Wiggins peaked out from behind his bushes and stood up, holding the gardening shears close to his chest.

The savages were gone - thank goodness - but they’d be back if Ratcliffe said they would. Terrified, Wiggins turned around in a circle, holding the shears out in front of him defensively. He suddenly realized the full extent of the damage done to his bushes.  
  
He’d taken a gigantic, scraggly and old bush and cropped and snipped it into some animals - an elephant, a bear, a giraffe, and then, at the head of the group, a unicorn, a beautiful unicorn.  
  
Now his hours of labor was reduced to pieces of plant matter and arrows. The unicorn’s head had been shot off and there was an arrow sticking out of its rear. Wiggins whimpered and bent back down, picking up the unicorn head.  
  
 _Don’t the Indians know how unforgivably evil it is to kill a unicorn?_ he wondered, running his fingers along the long, graceful horn. _They’ve lost their souls._  
  
“Wiggins! _Wiggins_!”  
  
Wiggins looked up and saw Ratcliffe walking around the holes created by the mass digging, searching.  
  
“Wiggins, damn you, get over here!”  
  
“I’m here, sir,” Wiggins said. Ratcliffe turned to him and marched over.  
  
“What are you doing there, sitting in the mud with a piece of a bush in your hands?” Ratcliffe snapped. “We have to get back to camp.”  
  
“They killed her,” Wiggins quietly replied, his gaze not leaving the unicorn head.  
  
“What?” Wiggins looked up at the Governor.  
  
“They killed a unicorn,” he whispered. “Such an action is unforgivably evil.” He closed his eyes and sniffed.  
  
With one swift motion, Ratcliffe kicked the head out of Wiggins’s hands. In despair, Wiggins watched as it rolled into the woods.

“That was not a unicorn,” Ratcliffe stated, putting his hands on his hips. “It was a stupid little bush you’d chopped into the shape of a unicorn. Now, are you going to stand up and walk back to camp with me, or am I going to have to drag you?”  
  
Wiggins looked up at him and sighed, dropping his gaze back to the ground. He picked up his gardening shears from the ground and looked at them. He hiccuped.  
  
Furious now, Ratcliffe kicked again, this time aiming for Wiggins’s ribcage.  
  
Wiggins gasped and dropped the shears, wrapping his arms around his waist. His heart was pounding in his ears and he wanted to throw up.  
  
“Get up!” Ratcliffe hissed, kicking again. Wiggins toppled over, his face smashing into the mud. He coughed, looking up at Ratcliffe, who’s eyes were a furious ruby red.  
  
“Up, damn you!” Ratcliffe raised his foot again.  
  
“No…” Wiggins whimpered. “Please - you’re hurting me.”  
  
Ratcliffe suddenly stopped, his eyes wide. Slowly, he lowered his foot back to the ground. Wiggins panted, closing his eyes and trying to focus on his heartbeat and not the terrible ache in his side.  
  
“Felix, I…I’m sorry.”  
  
Wiggins looked up at Ratcliffe and groaned.  
  
“Felix, please, I’m sorry. Here.” Ratcliffe bent down next to Wiggins and picked up the gardening sheers. “I’ll help you back to camp, all right? Everything…everything’s going to be fine.”  
  
Ratcliffe softly put an arm under Wiggins’s armpits and lifted him out of the mud. Wiggins groaned and began to sob, burying his face in his hands.  
  
“Shh,” Ratcliffe whispered, kissing Wiggins’s temple. “I’m sorry - I didn’t…I didn’t realize…mean to…those Indians attacked…Smith wasn’t there, and then you were being so slow…I’m sorry.”  
  
Wiggins nodded.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thomas**

 

It was raining, cold, and, to top everything, Thomas hadn’t eaten much the past two days. But he couldn’t just sit around, he had to help build the fort so the savages couldn’t get in and kill them all. Currently, they were pushing up logs for the picket fence.  
  
“All right!” Ben cried, pulling over a tied-together group of logs. “This one’s ready to hoist!”  
  
“Two on each side,” Lon ordered. “Ready now, push!”  
  
Thomas and the other men pushed, Smith using a spare log to push the upper part of the fence-piece. Thomas just wanted to go to sleep - preferably in a comfortable bed that wasn’t located in a drafty tent.  
  
 _Focus_ , he told himself.  
  
“Watch it, it’s slipping!” Lon shouted. Their feet struggled to find footing in the slick mud.  
  
“Come on, lads, it’s only a little picket fence,” Ben said.  
  
They pushed against it. Two hours ago, during the day and sun, the logs had seemed so significantly lighter.  
  
“Steady, steady!” Lon cried.

“There you go!” Ben announced when the logs were finally up.

“That’ll keep everything out, eh, John?” Thomas remarked, smiling at Smith. However, Smith didn’t seem to hear him, too busy digging up some earth to pile at the foot of the wall. Thomas frowned. “Something wrong, John?”

“What?” Smith asked.

“You’ve been awfully quiet the last few days,” Thomas stated.

“Oh, he’s just mad that he missed all the action,” Lon teased from over at the drilling station.

“Ah, don’t worry, John,” Thomas said. He walked over and put a hand on Smith’s shoulder, leaning in ever-so-subtly closer. “You’ll get a chance to deal with the Indians.”

“Yeah, we’ll take care of them like we did last time, eh, mates?” Lon laughed at his words and began to creep around, holding a pick in front of himself and singing-

_We shot ourselves an injun_

_Or maybe two or three_

Thomas grinned, taking his hand off Smith’s shoulder.

“All right, you howling nutter,” Ben interrupted, pulling up Lon’s cloak and kicking him in the rear, “get to work.”

“Come on, Ben,” Lon whined, peaking at him from underneath his cloak. “It’s just a little fun.”

_We could certainly use it,_ Thomas thought, glancing back over at John, who seemed troubled again.

“Oh, _sure_ ,” Ben remarked sarcastically, “we’re having loads of fun.” He slammed down his pick. “Right, look at us: no gold, no food, while Ratcliffe sits up in his tent all day, happy as a clam…”

 

##  **Wiggins**

 

Wiggins giggled to himself and stuck the fake arrow on his head. Looking around and not seeing anyone, he quietly crept over to Ratcliffe’s tent, then paused in front of it.

“…Why can’t I find it?” Ratcliffe moaned. “What am I overlooking?”

Wiggins put on his most I’ve-just-been-shot-through-the-head-with-an-arrow face and staggered in, clutching the curtains like he was in pain _._ _This will cheer John up in no time._

“Ah!” Wiggins gasped dramatically. Ratcliffe turned from the map he was currently examining - based on the number of maps strewn about the place, he’d been examining a lot of maps - and gasped, pressing his hand to his chest.

“I…” Wiggins began. “I…” He whipped the fake arrow off. “I made it myself.”

Ratcliffe was not amused. He stormed over to Wiggins, pulling on the front of his shirt and then yanking the fake arrow from his grasp. Wiggins eyed the Governor warily. _He’s suppose to be laughing._

“Take that silly-” Ratcliffe suddenly broke off, looking at the fake arrow. “Of course,” he whispered, “the Indians!” He reached over and dragged Wiggins closer to him. “Wiggins, why do you think those insolent heathens attacked us?”

“Because we invaded their land and cut down their trees and dug up their earth?” Wiggins offered, counting things off on his fingers. Wasn’t it obvious?

This, however, was apparently not the answer.

“It’s the gold!” Ratcliffe corrected him, walking over to his map. He grabbed at it and turned back to face Wiggins. “They have it and they don’t want us to take it from them. Well, I’ll just have to take it by force then, won’t I?” He shoved the map-stand back. Wiggins watched as it fell to the floor and broke a bit.

“Guess so, sir,” Wiggins mumbled. Still, something told him that maybe, just maybe the reason had more to do with the fact that the Englishmen were raping the Indian’s land.

But he didn’t say anything.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Thomas**

 

Thomas had guard duty with Ben and Lon the next night. Basically, he had to stand at the gate and shoot anything that moved.  
  
That’s what Ben had told him to do, anyway.  
  
Thomas eyed the rifle in his hands and scoffed. Chances were that he wouldn’t hit anything except the fort...behind him. Thomas sighed, realizing again how totally pointless everything in the New World was for him. All he wanted to do was go back home to his mother, father, and little sister...go back home to a world where he didn’t have to have the ability to shoot things, tie a rope properly, and not get seasick.  
  
A twig cracked. Thomas gasped and whirled towards the trees, aiming his rifle. His heart was beating wildly in his chest.  
  
“Easy, Thomas,” a voice called out. Thomas saw a human figure step towards him and was relieved to see that it was Smith. There was a strange grey animal wrapped around his neck. Thomas suddenly remembered that Smith had run off earlier, and that Ratcliffe had sent Lon and Ben after him, but they hadn’t found him.

“It’s me,” Smith said as the grey animal scurried into Smith’s bag.  
  
“Oh, John!” Thomas gasped, lowering his weapon. “I could’ve killed you!”  
  
“Not aiming like that, you couldn’t,” Smith chuckled. He put his hand on Thomas’s left hand, raising the gun for him. Then he stepped next to Thomas. Thomas found it hard to concentrate in the sudden closeness. _He smells like the woods…but in a good way…_  
 __  
Smith pointed out into the woods. “Keep both eyes open when you shoot. You’ll see twice as well.” Smiling, he slapped Thomas on the back.  
  
Thomas nodded slowly and was about to say something else, but Ben and Lon interrupted him.  
  
“Smith!” Ben cried. “There ya are!”  
  
“We were looking all over for you!” Lon added.  
  
Ratcliffe marched out of his tent, furious, followed by Wiggins, who carried a hairbrush.  
  
“Smith!” Ratcliffe barked. “Where have you been?” He stopped in front of Smith, hands on his hips, and Wiggins paused behind him.

Wiggins's eyes met Thomas's and Thomas remembered their brief conversation on the ship some month back. Deeming it impolite to completely ignore Wiggins, Thomas gave the manservant a brief, curt nod.  
  
“I was out scouting the terrain, sir,” Smith replied, gesturing back to the woods.

Wiggins's face absolutely lit up at Thomas's gesture and he smiled, blinking a few times. Thomas was disturbed by the excessive show of emotion and he leaned back a bit, narrowing his eyes at Wiggins. Wiggins's face fell and Thomas decided to pay more attention to Ratcliffe and Smith's argument.  
  
“Excellent,” Ratcliffe stated. “Then you must know the Indians’ whereabouts. We’ll need that information for the battle."  
  
“What battle?” Smith asked, sounding upset.  
  
“We will eliminate these savages once and for all,” Ratcliffe replied.  
  
“No!” Smith protested, stepping over to Ratcliffe, index finger raised. Thomas looked over at him, confused. What was _wrong_ with Smith lately? “You can’t do that!”  
  
“Oh?” Ratcliffe asked, raising an eyebrow. “Can’t I?”  
  
“Look, we don’t have to fight them-”  
  
“John, what’s gotten into you?” Thomas interjected.  
  
“I met one of them,” John replied, turning in Thomas's direction.  
  
“You what?” Ben asked, turning Smith to face him.

“A savage?” Thomas wondered, aghast.  
  
“They’re not savages,” Smith explained; “they can help us. They know the land, they know how to navigate the rivers. And look!” He reached into his pack and pulled out a strange-looking thing, like gold wrapped in a green blanket. “It’s food!”  
  
“What is it?” Lon wondered.  
  
“It’s better than hardtack and gruel, that’s for sure.”  
  
“I like gruel,” Wiggins commented, popping up from behind Ratcliffe's big body. Thomas suddenly realized that Wiggins had been brushing the Governor’s hair with crazy fascination; Thomas felt unnerved.  
  
Ratcliffe thundered forward and Wiggins cowered back a few steps.  
  
“They don’t want to feed us, you ninnies!” Ratcliffe thundered as he snatched the strange food from Smith’s grasp. “They want to kill us!” He threw the food to the ground. “ _All_ of us! They’ve got our gold, and they’ll do anything to keep it!” Ratcliffe marched around, shoving men around and shaking the old man in a furious rage.  
  
“But there is no gold!” Smith shouted, storming over to Ratcliffe.  
  
“No…gold?” Ben gasped.  
  
 _You mean I came to the New World for nothing?_ Thomas wondered in despair. _True, I met the famous John Smith, but-_  
  
“And I suppose your little Indian friend told you this,” Ratcliffe hissed sweetly.  
  
“Yes,” Smith answered, his voice stiff.  
  
“Lies!” Ratcliffe shouted. “Lies, all of it! Murderous thieves, there’s no room for their kind in civilized society!”  
  
“But this is their land!” Smith shot back.  
  
Thomas wanted to dig himself back into a hole - he hated it when people shouted.

“This is _my_ land!” Ratcliffe boomed. “I make the laws here! And I say anyone who so much as looks at an Indian without killing him on sight will be tried for treason and hanged.”  
  
 _Hanged!_ Thomas gulped and glanced at Smith.  
  
He couldn’t see Smith’s face. Smith had his back to him.

❧ ❧ ❧

Ratcliffe made a harsh gesture to Wiggins and the two stuffy, aristocratic Brits turned and went back to their tent. Thomas turned his gaze away from them and looked back at Smith.

Smith was tense, and when he turned to face Thomas and the other men, Thomas could see that his face was strained.

“They don't want to fight!” Smith stated, looking around at the men, vying for their concurence. But they all just stared at him, torn looks on their faces.

“Oh, just forget it,” Smith muttered. He turned away on one heel and began to storm off. The men began to whisper amongst themselves.

But not Thomas. Thomas watched Smith walk off, then propped his gun against the side of the fort and ran after the captain.

“John!” he called. “John!”

Eventually, Smith stopped and looked at Thomas in an almost annoyed manner, like he was aggravated with Thomas for some reason.

“What is it?” Smith wondered.

“Well, I...um...” Thomas stammered himself speechless. He was thankful when Smith broke the silence.

“Thomas, I would like to ask you for a favor,” he said.

“Of course, John.” Thomas was only too happy to agree – he still owed Smith a favor from when Smith saved him at sea.

“I feel as though I can trust you, so could you...” Smith trailed off, chuckling to himself. Thomas was thankful to hear the happy sound. “This is going to sound strange, but I want you to keep an eye on my bag for me.”

“Your bag?” Thomas repeated, shooting Smith a confused look. “Why?”

“Just do it for me, all right?” Smith pulled the bag over his shoulder and slid it down his arm. He held it out to Thomas. “No questions asked.”

Thomas had so many questions to ask, but he just nodded. Smith smiled at him and Thomas reached out, taking the bag. Smith nodded and walked off. Thomas watched him go, wondering if maybe he should say more, but then Smith was out of sight. Thomas looked down at Smith's nondescript grey shoulder-bag, then hugged it close to his chest and found himself smiling.  
  


 

##  **Wiggins**

  
“ Wiggins, have you seen Percy?”  
  
Wiggins shook his head calmly and gave Ratcliffe a little grin – similar to the one he gave Thomas. “No, sir.”  
  
Ratcliffe frowned down at him. “You’re lying.” Wiggins's face fell and he tensed up, the memory of Thomas disappearing like the snap of a finger.  
  
“No!” Wiggins cried. He pressed the hairbrush against his chest and looked up at Ratcliffe, terrified.  
  
“Yes!” Ratcliffe shouted at him. “You are!” His eyes flashed red and Wiggins winced, closing his eyes. Right on schedule, he felt the slap. He bit his bottom lip and tried to blink away the tears.  
  
 _At least we’re in his tent,_ he thought. _No one will see us_.  
  
“ Where is he?” Ratcliffe barked.  
  
“I don’t know,” Wiggins whispered. Ratcliffe slapped him again and Wiggins didn't even bother to move his head back into its usual position - instead, he rested his cheek on his shoulder and gave a little whimper.  
  
“How long has he been missing?”  
  
“I don’t know, sir!” Wiggins gasped. “I didn’t know-”

There was another slap and Wiggins felt his face go wet. The wall behind his eyes broke and Wiggins sobbed.  
  
“Stop crying, you pathetic excuse of a man!”  
  
Wiggins tried to stop but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. Instead, he cried harder.  
  
“Stop it, stop it!” Ratcliffe barked, shoving Wiggins away. Wiggins stumbled and found he was on the ground. He looked up at Ratcliffe, then turned away, frightened. Meanwhile, Ratcliffe lumbered closer.  
  
“Governor Ratcliffe, sir.”  
  
Wiggins blinked open his eyes and saw Thomas standing in the doorway of the tent, next to Ratcliffe. Thomas looked from Ratcliffe to Wiggins and back again. Ratcliffe glowered at the young man and Wiggins coughed, blinking repeatedly. He stood up, looking off to the side, away from both of them.  
  
“Dropped something,” he mumbled.  
  
“Oh,” Thomas replied blankly.  
  
“Good night,” Wiggins added, walking slowly to the tent entrance.  
  
“Yes, good night, Wiggins,” Ratcliffe said. Wiggins nodded at the Governor and Thomas stepped aside, watching as Wiggins scurried out of the tent.  
  
Wiggins crept into his own tent and, once there, curled into a little ball, chewing absentmindedly on a hangnail. It hurt, but he already hurt too much to really feel it. He cried and rubbed his cheek; it was hot to the touch.  
  
“Hey, you all right in there?”  
  
Wiggins squeaked and instinctively covered his face with his pillow. “Fine, fine, all fine!” he shouted, not even sure who he was shouting back at. All he knew was that he wanted them to go away so he could cry privately.  
  
He heard his tent flap fling open and he peaked curiously over his pillow. It was Thomas.  
  
“I’m fine,” Wiggins repeated.

“You sure?” Thomas asked. “You don’t look fine. Really, you look terrible.” He seemed to hesitate. “I can understand that feeling.”  
  
“What are you talking about, fine, fine, everything’s fine.” As if to prove his point, Wiggins reached into his auburn hair and pulled out the hair ribbon he had in there. He shook his hair loose and looked over at Thomas, running his fingers through his unkempt hair. “Something you want?”  
  
“What did you lose?” Thomas wondered.  
  
“What?” Wiggins cocked his head at the boy, confused, and a random strand of hair brushed down. Wiggins pulled the hair aside, tucking it behind his ear.  
  
“You said you’d dropped something, but you didn’t pick anything up,” Thomas reminded him.  
  
Wiggins brought his shoulders up to his ears.  
  
“M-maybe it really isn’t any of your business,” Wiggins remarked, getting off the cot and walking over to the entrance of the tent. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get to bed. _Good night_.” He yanked the tent away from Thomas and swished it shut.  
  
It wasn’t until he heard someone walking away that he allowed himself to breathe and resume what he was doing.  
  
He wanted to talk to Thomas, he honestly did - he liked Thomas very much - but Wiggins knew that Ratcliffe would lash out again if he did anything else wrong.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Thomas**

Sitting around the campfire with some of the other men later that night, Thomas could almost forget all the things wrong with the world. He could almost forget that he was a terrible Virginia Company employee and he could almost forget that John wasn’t there, but off in his tent. Why, he could even almost forget that earlier, he’d walked in on Ratcliffe looking murderously down at a whimpering Wiggins. Wiggins had been on the floor, but when they realized Thomas was there, they both acted like everything was completely normal.  
  
Thomas sighed and turned his attention back to the other men.  
  
“…Ratcliffe wouldn’t take us halfway around the world for nothing,” Ben remarked.  
  
 _Could we_ please _talk about something besides gold and Ratcliffe?_ Thomas thought.  
  
“But what if Smith is right?” Lon wondered. “What if there is no gold?”  
  
“If you ask me,” a man named Charles remarked, “Ratcliffe’s been lying to us since we left London.”  
  
Thomas sighed and let his gaze wander. His eyes fell on a tent across the way and he saw a person through the thin material. He frowned, standing up in confusion. That was his tent - what was someone doing in there?  
  
“Listen to you, you bunch of idiots,” Ben snapped. “Those savages didn’t attack us for nothing - they’re hiding something.”  
  
Thomas walked around the other men and paused, watching as Smith ran to the entrance of the fort, followed by the same grey animal that had been around his neck earlier.

 _Where could John be going at this hour?_ Thomas wondered. _It’s past midnight._  
  
“If they do have the gold, I reckon we’ll have to fight them,” Lon stated. Smith ducked out of the fort.  
  
Thomas hurried over to the entrance and peaked out, just in time to see Smith turn and run down a path.  
  
 _Where could he be going?_ Thomas wondered. He then bit his lip. _Oh, God, what’s become of John? He’s so different…tense, sneaking off in the middle of the night…_  
  
Suddenly, he was shoved out of the fort. He gasped and hurriedly caught his balance in a crazed panic. He whirled back at the fort, suddenly terrified.  
  
“Follow him,” Ratcliffe ordered.  
  
Thomas straightened up, balling his hands in fists at his sides. “Yes, Governor.”  
  
“I want to know where he’s sneaking off to.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“And if you happen to see any Indians…” Ratcliffe tossed Thomas a gun. “Shoot them.” Thomas bit his lip and glanced down at the gun. Then he took a quiet breath and prepared to depart

“Oh, and Thomas?” The boy looked back at Ratcliffe. “You’ve been a slipshod sailor and a poor excuse for a soldier. Don’t disappoint me again.”  
  
Ratcliffe turned and walked back into the fort. Thomas blinked and looked down at the gun, walking slowly away. The ground seemed like fluff beneath his feet.  
  
 _Just keep both eyes open,_ he reminded himself.  
  
Then, without further ado, he quickened his pace and hurried after Smith into the night.

❧ ❧ ❧

Damn - he couldn't track, either.  
  
Thomas glanced down at the ground and took a deep breath. _Just circle around for a little bit - maybe you’ll find him that way._  
  
He walked back and eventually came across a gigantic willow tree. _Savages could be lurking behind the hanging vine…branch…things._ Thomas raised his gun in front of him and took some precarious steps forward.  
  
“All right, let’s go talk to your father.”  
  
 _John!_ Thomas thought, relief washing over him. However, despite how much he wanted to bound out and wrap his arms around Smith in a relieved spurt of emotion, Thomas was still slow and cautious. He took some steps forward and used his rifle to push away the curtain of leaves.  
  
He saw a little glade across from a little pond with some lily pads. And there, in the moonlight-  
  
His heart sank.  
  
There was John.  
  
And there was a woman.  
  
A redskin.  
  
John was kissing a redskin woman.

Thomas suddenly couldn't breathe, couldn't think.  
  
It was like his heart had been ripped from his chest and crushed into the dirt. He thought he’d had it bad before, when Ratcliffe took every available opportunity to make him feel worthless, incessantly reminding him of how young and inexperienced he was, but that was _nothing_ compared to this.  
  
First he was shocked. Then hurt. Disgusted.  
  
Jealous.  
  
A shriek shattered the air and Smith and the Indian woman broke apart. Thomas saw a male Indian burst through some bushes, and he hurtled himself at Smith.

The Indian man pinned Smith to the ground, trying to hit him with an ax. The Indian woman screamed pleadingly at the other savage in their native tongue. Smith reached helplessly for a stick and used it to get the Indian off of him. The two men got up.  
  
However, the savage was not deterred - he pulled out a lethal-looking rock fashioned into a dagger. Despite it’s primitiveness, Thomas knew that it could and would kill Smith.  
  
 _I’ve got to do something,_ Thomas thought, panicking as he ran out of the woods and across the pond. He felt like a frayed patchwork quilt, all crazy and who-knows-what-and-where.  
  
“ _If you happen to see any Indians, shoot them,”_ Ratcliffe had said. Thomas pulled out his gunpowder and tore the packet open with his teeth.  
  
Smith and the Indian were rolling around on the ground, fighting for control of the weapon. The woman ran over to them and tried to pull her fellow savage off, but he pushed her back, standing up a little.  
  
Thomas ran to a good spot to take aim and shoot, running his pole through the barrel of the musket.  
  
 _I won’t shoot at the Indian, just scare him off_ , Thomas told himself, aiming and squinting one eye shut. _I can't shoot, anyway._  
  
The woman ran back over to Smith and the savage, trying to pull the man off.  
  
“ ‘Both eyes open,’” Thomas recited. His shut eye fluttered open.  
  
He pulled the trigger.  
  
The savage gasped and dropped the weapon. He fell backwards, grabbing at the blue necklace around the Indian woman’s neck. It shattered and he fell into the lily pad-filled pond. The woman gasped.  
  
 _Oh my God,_ Thomas thought, taking a few dazed steps forward.  
  
“Thomas!” Smith cried.

“Is he…?” Thomas couldn’t bring the words to his mouth and fell silent, pleadingly looking at Smith. All he could see in Smith’s blue eyes were disappointment.  
  
Thomas felt sick.  
  
The redskin woman turned to him and said something. She looked so sad and upset.  
  
“I thought that-” Thomas began. The woman ran at him, cutting him off with furious screaming. Thomas took a step back and Smith grabbed her.  
  
“Pocahontas, it won’t help!” Smith cried. “He was only-"  
  
She interrupted him, too.  
  
 _Oh, God,_ Thomas thought as he looked at the unmoving body of the fallen Indian. _I killed him. I killed a savage._ I killed someone. _Help-_  
  
Shouting filled the air - this time, it wasn’t from the woman. Thomas glanced over at where the noise was coming from, panting.  
  
“Thomas, get out of here!” Smith ordered. Thomas opened his mouth, looking back at the captain. “Get out of here!”  
  
Thomas ran. He ran across the pond and into the woods just as the crowd of Indians came. Thomas could tell just from his hearing that Smith was captured.  
  
 _This is all my fault,_ he thought in dismay, tripping over a root. _God, I can't do anything right...worthless, worthless, worthless..._

##  **Wiggins**

Wiggins couldn’t sleep. He tossed and he turned but he couldn’t even drift off. All he could think about were Ratcliffe’s monstrous red eyes glaring down at him as he tried desperately to escape.  
  
Wiggins jerked open his eyes and sat up, running his fingers along the back of his neck; he found that it was drenched with sweat. He blinked and saw those eyes again.  
  
 _Don’t close your eyes,_ he told himself. _Keep occupied._  
  
He closed one eye and rubbed it, then did the same with the other one. He groaned and got up.  
  
“ ‘Drawing soothes the soul,’” he muttered. It was something his mother had always told him when he was upset.  
  
He picked up a quill and dug around in his tent for his ink and some paper. He found the back of a list of things to do he’d written a while back, then an ink well. He dipped the pen nib into the ink.  
  
“Hi nonny nonny,” he whispered. He remembered that day so clearly, and he couldn't help but smile weakly at the mostly-happy memories.  
  
Wiggins drew.  
  
First, a curve - a circle. Two circles. Some lines, fanning out everywhere. Around the circle with those lines, forming the shape of an almond. Some curves. Coloring. Lots of coloring. He didn’t even know what he was drawing.  
  
“ _Hi nonny nonny, hi nonny nonny,”_ he sang softly, putting the quill down. He picked up the paper and looked at it.  
  
He dropped the paper quickly, like it was on fire - he wished it was; then he wouldn’t see those eyes again, haunting him wherever he went.  
  
Wiggins sighed.

 _Maybe I should go talk to John,_ he thought. _Let him know that I really think he needs to get his temper controlled._  
  
He thought about this.

 _He doesn’t mean to hurt me,_ he continued, chewing on a fingernail. _He just lashes out in anger of my faults, it’s not like he_ wants _to hurt me or anything like that._

  
Wiggins thought about this some more.  
 __  
I should _talk to him. Explain things._  
  
Wiggins glanced out the tent flap and sighed.  
  
 _Maybe tomorrow_ , he decided. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Thomas**

Thomas fled in a wild state, not really sure where he was going.  
  
He didn’t care.  
  
Shadows lurked all around and the wind laughed at him. He wondered how many of the savages were watching him, waiting for him to-  
  
He tripped. Fell. Thomas didn’t even bother to get up. _Let the savages have their way_ , he thought. _Kill me, just kill me - I can’t bear to live with this pain._  
  
But Thomas was alone. He rolled over onto his back and blinked up at the inky black sky; it was barely visible through the trees. The blackness reminded him of _her_ , the way her hair had billowed in the wind when they’d kissed, and he closed his eyes, covering his face with the crook of his arm.  
  
In the blackness of himself, he replayed creeping over to the curtain of leaves, pulling it away with his rifle and then seeing the two of them together… He pulled his arm off his face and gave a deep breath, trying desperately to keep himself together.  
  
All right, yes, seeing them together was…upsetting, because who wants to find out that John Smith - the famous Indian exterminator John Smith - was having a romantic liaison with an _Indian woman_? Ratcliffe had expressly said to shoot any savage his men saw, and Smith… The idea! Good God, the _very idea_!  
  
Once, just for once, Thomas had done something right - he’d shot an injun, and he’d aimed properly…at the wrong time. He hadn’t meant to shoot the savage, just scare him off, away from John…  
  
He’d killed someone. He’d _murdered_ someone.  
  
 _But I had to,_ he told himself. _The savage was going to kill John, I… I had to shoot._  
  
Thomas coughed and sat up, glancing over at the rifle. It had fallen from his grasp and onto the ground on his right. He looked away from it and down at his shoes in their scuffed and dirty state. His gaze fell on John's bag and it seemed like the world came crashing in again.  
“It should have been me, not her.”

It was a sudden, breathtakingly harsh realization. And the more Thomas thought about it, the more he looked at Smith's shoulder-bag, the more the idea fully took root in his soul.  
  
Thomas sighed and crossed his arms, resting them on top of his knees. Then he put his chin on his arms, running his tongue slowly across his lips.  
 __  
Now I know how I feel, he thought. _Fine. I understand._  
 _  
_A tear slid down his face.  
  
 _But now it’s too late._  
  
Once more, he closed his eyes and listened to the steady beating of his heart for a moment.  
  
 _I need to help him._ Thomas opened his eyes. _I need to get help._  
  
Now with a cause, he reached behind and grabbed his rifle. Determined to save John from certain death, he stood and ran in the direction he was fairly certain was the camp.  
  
However, as determined as he was before, it didn’t take long before he felt terrified and confused again.  


##  **Wiggins**

“Help! Somebody, help! Help, help!”

Wiggins looked up from his drawing.  
  
“Easy, lad. What is it?”  
  
“It’s Smith! They got him!”  
  
“Who got him?”  
  
“The savages!”  
  
“Savages?”  
  
Wiggins got up and pressed himself softly against the side of the tent. Should he go out? He certainly would like to know what was going on. It probably wouldn’t hurt…  
  
“They captured him, dragged him off!”  
  
Wiggins recognized that voice now - it was Thomas, talking with some of the other men.  
  
“Where’d they take him?”

  
“They headed North!”  
  
Wiggins reached for his candle and peeked out of the tent, holding the candle over his head. He eyed the men for a moment, the decided to risk leaving his tent to find out what was going on. Lifting the hem of his nightshirt, he stepped out of his tent and walked across the earth towards the other men.  
  
“How many were there?”  
  
“I don’t know, at least a dozen!”  
  
Wiggins passed Ratcliffe’s tent and a large arm reached out. The hand attached to the arm grabbed the front of Wiggins's shirt and pulled him inside the tent. Wiggins gasped, preparing to scream, and Ratcliffe placed a large, meaty hand over his mouth.  
  
“Filthy beasts!” a man outside cried.  
  
“It’s perfect, Wiggins!” Ratcliffe said in a giddy voice. He suddenly blew out Wiggins's candle and Wiggins whimpered, trying to get away. He didn’t want to be left alone in the dark with Ratcliffe, not then. He wasn’t sure if he wanted that ever again.

“I couldn’t have planned this better myself!” Ratcliffe pushed the tent flap aside, greedily looking out at the men. “The gold is as good as mine.”

Wiggins eyed Ratcliffe warily, then looked back out at the men, who were still talking about what had happened to Smith. With a blink, he looked back at Ratcliffe. The Governor seemed cheerful enough...  
  
“Get dressed and meet me outside,” Ratcliffe ordered, letting go of Wiggins and stepping out. “Bring my armor!”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Wiggins squeaked.  
  
“Hurry!”  
  
Ratcliffe hurried over towards his men.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thomas**

“Thomas is right!” Ben cried. “We’ve got to do something!”  
  
“And so we shall!” Ratcliffe stated, marching up. The men turned to him, and Thomas wondered how much of their conversation the Governor had heard.  
  
“I _told_ you those savages _couldn’t_ be trusted,” Ratcliffe said, walking between the two rows of men. Many men vocalized their agreement with Ratcliffe. “Smith _tried_ to befriend them, and look what they’ve done to him!” He shook the one-eyed old man. “But now I say it’s time to rescue our courageous comrade. At daybreak, we attack!”  
  
The men around Thomas cheered. Thomas looked around at them. _Bloodshed_ , he thought, _it always leads back to bloodshed._  
  
Ratcliffe marched up to the top of some stacked crates. On top of them, Thomas saw Wiggins standing there, waiting and holding some large, black armor. Ratcliffe sang in a snarling tone, holding his arms out so Wiggins could put the armor on him.

_What can you expect_

_From filthy little heathens_

_Here’s what you get when races are diverse_

Wiggins clipped the armor onto Ratcliffe’s body and men nodded in agreement with Ratcliffe’s words. Ratcliffe continued to sing while Wiggins clipped the rest of the armor onto Ratcliffe. Then he slid on Ratcliffe’s pink cloak with a dramatic flourish.

_Their skin’s a hellish red_

_They’re only good when dead_

_They’re vermin as I said and worse_

_They’re_

“ _Savages! Savages!”_ the men sang, raising whatever they had in their hands high above their heads. Thomas saw Wiggins pulling out the stash of muskets and the boy wanted to bury himself deep into the earth until this was all over.  
  
“ _Barely even human,”_ Ratcliffe cried, tossing a rifle out. A man caught it.  
  
“ _Savages! Savages!”_  
  
Ratcliffe took all the muskets from Wiggins’s grasp and tossed them out into the crowd. Men caught their guns eagerly, but Thomas just looked down at his weapon. _More death. I don’t want to do this._  
  
Ratcliffe sang out-

_Drive them from our shore_

_They’re not like you and me_

_Which means they must be evil_

Thomas looked helplessly up at Ratcliffe.

_We must sound the drums of war_

Thomas bit his lip and eyed the preparing men around him. He closed his eyes and tried to drown everything out, but it was impossible. One of his hands loosened their grip on the musket and he felt it fall from his grasp. He opened his eyes and looked down at the gun. His gaze shifted and he studied Smith's shoulder-bag for a few moments.

The sun began to creep up over the hills.

_They’re savages! Savages!_

_Dirty shrieking devils_

_Now we sound the drums of war_

_Savages! Savages!_

“Let’s go get a few, men!” Ben shouted.

_Savages! Savages!_

“Now it’s up to you, men!” Ratcliffe shouted, marching to the front of the troops. Thomas glanced down at his weapon, then over at Wiggins, who was going back to his tent. _Lucky dog - cowardly, though._ Thomas wished he had the courage to be cowardly.

_Savages! Savages!_

_Barely even human_

_Now we sound the drums of war_

Lightning crashed and they marched towards the fort-gates. Thomas had to march, for John. He forced himself to not think about the blood that would soon drench his hands, stain them red.  
  
 _They’re savages,_ he reminded himself. _Inhuman beasts.v_ He couldn’t believe his thoughts anymore.  
  
The men marched North, Ratcliffe leading the way. They all marched over a hill as the sun rose higher, tinting the world with a lethal, murderous red.  
  
“ _This will be the day!”_ Ratcliffe sang, unsheathing his sword and waving it over his head. “Let’s go, men!”  
  
“ _We will see them dying in the dust!”_ the Englishmen shouted, marching into some woods. Thomas found himself at the head of the line, directly behind Ratcliffe.  
  
He felt sick.

_Now we make them pay_

_Now without a warning_

_Now we leave them blood and bone and dust_

_It’s them or us_

All Thomas could think about was John kissing that Indian woman - was mass slaughter really the answer? The Englishmen and Indians obviously could get along, given time.  
  
“ I must. Do this,” he muttered to himself in an inaudible tone. He looked down at the shoulder-bag. “For John.” Still, he couldn’t bring himself to join the men in their singing.

_They’re just a bunch of filthy, stinking_

_Savages! Savages!_

_Demons, devils_

“Kill them!” Ratcliffe shouted.

_Savages! Savages!_

“What are we waiting for?” wondered Ratcliffe. He sang loudly with his men.

_Destroy their evil race_

_Until there’s not a trace left_

_We will sound the drums of war_

Thomas stopped marching suddenly and was shoved aside by the other men. Thomas couldn't move. He looked back down at his rifle. _I have to._ He yanked the shoulder-bag off, breaking its buckle in the process. He threw the bag to the ground and ran back to his place in line.

The bag would not be touched by blood.

_Savages! Savages!_

_Now we sound the drums of war_

_Now we see what comes_

_Of trying to be chums_

The Englishmen exited the woods and saw, in uttermost horror, Smith. He was on top of a cliff, being dragged by the savages into the light of the breaking dawn. One of the savages had a large club with him.

“John!” Thomas cried as his fellow men, ignoring him, looked up at the cliff and sang-

_Now we sound the drums of_

_War_

The Indian with the club raised it. The Englishmen could only look on helplessly.   
  
Suddenly, Thomas saw the Indian woman race out of the throng of redskins and throw herself on Smith’s body. Her long, flowing black hair spilled like water onto the ground, covering Smith completely. She looked up to the club-bearing Indian and said something.  
  
The older Indian replied in a commanding tone. The woman shook her head and said something else.  
  
The male Indian looked shocked. The woman said more. Everyone waited expectantly for the club-bearing Indian to do something. But he was still.  
  
_ Is he not going to fight? _

  
The Indian first looked at the Englishmen, who all had their guns raised and aimed, then at his people, who had their bows and arrows pointed at the Englishmen. Everyone prepared to shoot, to start the war.  
  
Thomas heard his heart pounding in his ears. He aimed at the closest Indian, biting his lip as he rested his finger on the trigger of his gun.  
  
The Indian man raised his eyes to the sky and the wind billowed through his black hair. He gazed down and said something, his club clutched in both hands over his head. He then lowered the club, turning to his warriors.  
  
 _They’re not going to fight_ , Thomas realized as the Indians not only lowered their weapons, but released Smith.  
  
Smith and the Indian woman embraced, and, as much as it hurt to, Thomas couldn’t look away from them.  
  
“Now’s our chance!” Ratcliffe boomed. He unsheathed his sword and raised it high above his head. “Fire!”  
  
“No!” Thomas shouted, stepping forward. Ratcliffe whirled to face him, looking absolutely murderous.  
  
“What?” the Governor snarled.  
  
“They let him go!” Thomas shot back.  
  
“They don’t want to fight!” Ben added, stepping next to Thomas.  
  
“It’s a trick, don’t you see?” Ratcliffe spat. “Fire!”  
  
Lon joined Thomas and Ben. Ratcliffe shook his sword at them, trembling all over; he turned around slowly, looking around at his other men.  
  
No one moved.  
  
“Fine!” Ratcliffe hissed, dropping his sword and yanking a gun from a man’s grasp. “I’ll settle this myself.” He aimed the gun up at the club-bearing Indian.  
  
“No!” Smith shouted, releasing himself from the Indian woman’s grasp and throwing himself in front of the man, whom he pushed away.  
  
The loud crack of a musket filled the air and John fell.  
  
“John!” Thomas cried, not even sure what emotions were pulsing through him anymore. He turned to Ratcliffe. The Governor seemed utterly shocked with himself. Thomas shouted, “You shot him!”  
  
“He stepped right-right into it!” Ratcliffe protested, stammering. “It’s his own fault!”

“Smith was right all along!” Ben declared. The men began to circle the Governor.  
  
“We never should have listened to you!” Lon agreed.  
  
“Get the gun!” Ben ordered. All the Englishmen lunged at Ratcliffe.  
  
“Traitors!” the Governor yelled over all the men's cries. “Unhand me, I say, how dare you!”  
  
“Put him in chains!” Thomas commanded, yanking the gun from Ratcliffe’s grasp.  
  
“I’ll see you all hanged for this!” Ratcliffe lunged forward and spat in Thomas’s face. But Thomas did not flinch.  
  
“And gag him as well,” he added tonelessly.  
  
His tough bravado then melted away and Thomas turned to the cliff, where he saw the Indian woman and the older man bending over Smith’s still body.  
  
 _No,_ Thomas thought, running over to the Indians. He darted up the cliff. _John - he can’t be dead, he can’t die, he’s John Smith, John Smith doesn’t die…_  
  
Thomas ran past the Indians, breathing loudly as his heart pounded in his ears. The Indians stepped aside and let him pass, heads solemnly bowed.  
  
He rushed over to the woman and Indian man. They looked at him and Thomas barely saw that the woman had a flicker of recognition in her eyes. He bent down next to Smith.  
  
“John,” he whispered. “Oh, John, please be all right.”  
  
Smith groaned and turned his head to look at Thomas, who felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his back.  
  
“John!” he muttered. “Oh, thank God you’re alive…”  


 

##  **Wiggins**

They came back an hour or two after sunrise, all in a gigantic, cheering clump. Wiggins looked up from his bush-sculpting; he’d decided to redo his animals, but all of them - especially the unicorn - weren’t as beautiful as they had been before.  
  
The men entered the fort, carrying something big high above their heads. Wiggins squinted at them and realized that they were holding a large, squirming body. He recognized that body, didn’t he…?  
  
“Governor Ratcliffe?” he gasped. He tucked the gardening shears into his belt and ran over to the men.  
  
“ _We’re stalwart men and bold of the Virginia Company!”_ they sang.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Wiggins asked, trying to not get run over by the stampeding throng. “The Governor-”  
  
“Stop you’re worrying, lad!” someone cried, putting his hands on Wiggins’s shoulders. “It’s over! The injun’s have declared peace, Smith’s alive - wounded, but alive - and Ratcliffe’s been bound and gagged! We mutinied!”  
  
“What?” Wiggins gasped. “Governor Ratcliffe - no!”  
  
He shoved the man away and ran after the men carrying away his employer. “Wait! Sir! Sir! Oh, sir!”  
  
“Mmmgnnns!” Ratcliffe cried, his voice muffled by a purple gag. “Et ee oww.”  
  
“What, sir?” Wiggins asked. He pulled on a man’s sleeve. “Please, put him down. Let me talk with him, please. Whatever he did, I’m sure it was an accident, he would never-”  
  
“He shot Captain Smith!” the man declared, kicking Wiggins’s shins. He hit a bruise and Wiggins squeaked, wincing. “Git away! Anyone who’s still loyal to Ratcliffe is a traitor!”  
  
Wiggins stood there as they walked off. He was stationary, but he had never felt so lost and adrift.  
  
“John,” he muttered, reaching out a little bit. His eyes stung, so he lowered his hand and pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. He dabbed at his eyes and turned away.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Thomas**

Thomas walked over to Ben and Lon, who were loading up the boat for John. Across Thomas’s shoulders, he had Smith's sword and rifle, and in his hands he carried a pillow…all to be added to the boat.  
  
“Is he going to make it, Thomas?” Ben asked. Thomas didn’t have an answer, so, as he pulled off the sword and rifle, passing them to Ben, he replied, “Sooner he gets back to England, the better.”  
  
“Well, let’s hope the wind is with him,” Lon remarked.  
  
Thomas swallowed and asked, “Is the ship ready yet?”  
  
“Any minute now.” Ben chuckled. “Just loading the last bit of cargo.” He motioned his head to where the second-to-final boat was being loaded.  
  
“How dare you!” Ratcliffe protested, struggling in his bonds. His voice was slightly muffled because of his gag. “Untie me at once! I’ll have your heads for this.”  
Thomas saw that Wiggins was watching Ratcliffe from shore, a handkerchief in his hands.  
  
“And he came so highly recommended,” Wiggins mumbled loudly to himself.  
  
Thomas tuned away and walked over to where Smith was lying on his stretcher. John’s shirt was unbuttoned, his blonde hair strewn across the pillow, and there were bandages wrapped around his waist. Thomas felt his heart rise in his throat as he bent down next to Smith.  
  
He couldn’t bring the words to his mouth at first. “The ship’s almost ready,” he quietly stated at last. “We’d better get you on board. We’ll lose the tide.” Ben and Lon bent down to lift up the stretcher.  
  
“No, not yet,” Smith replied, putting a hand on Thomas’s shoulder.  
  
 _Why did you have to do that, John?_ Thomas wondered. _It will only make things harder when you’re gone._  
  
“She said she’d be here,” Smith finished. Ben and put the stretcher down and Smith let go of Thomas’s shoulder.  
  
 _She_. Pocahontas. Thomas looked sadly at the ground, then Smith’s hand, and finally into the fog surrounding the wood. He saw movement and forced himself to smile. “Look.”  
  
Slowly and softly, Pocahontas stepped out of the fog, followed by her people, who held food. They stopped and lowered the food to the ground. Pocahontas glided over to the Englishmen, who lowered their hats as she walked past - it was proper procedure when dealing with royalty, and Pocahontas was the chief’s daughter. Thomas stood up and stopped her from going farther. He took off his hat and looked shamefully down at the earth.  
  
“Going back is his only chance,” he said quietly. “He’ll die if he stays here.”  
  
Pocahontas smiled slightly at Thomas and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Her look seemed to say that she had forgiven Thomas for killing that Indian man. It made him feel a little better, and he allowed himself to smile. But then Pocahontas turned away and walked over to Smith; Thomas's face fell when he remembered...everything.  
  
Pocahontas went to Smith’s side and bent down, pulling out a hand-sewn bag from beneath her skirt. She said something, but Thomas didn’t understand her. Smith had explained to him that you had to listen with your heart in order to understand the Indians, but Thomas’s heart was currently too broken to do any listening.  
  
“What pain?” Smith joked. “I’ve had worse pain than this.” He winced. “Can’t think of any right now, but…” He leaned back.  
  
Chief Powhatan - the man who had nearly killed Smith a few days previous - stepped forward. He bent down next to Smith and laid his rabbit-fur cloak across him, saying something. A hummingbird danced around Smith’s face and landed on his finger as Powhatan stepped away.  
  
“I thought you didn’t like strangers,” Smith said to the animal, who looked away in an almost bashful sort of way. The hummingbird flew off Smith's finger and down to the side of Smith's stretcher.

Next to Smith’s stretcher was Ratcliffe’s dog, Percy - garbed in Indian clothing - and a raccoon - wearing Percy’s collar. They held out a blue necklace to Pocahontas. Thomas painfully recognized it as the necklace that had been broken the night…the night he’d…

Thomas licked his lips.  
  
Pocahontas said something and took the necklace, tying it around her neck.  
  
“See ya, Percy,” Smith said to the dog, roughing up its fur. The raccoon reached to the ground and picked up a piece of hardtack. It blew some dust off the inedible food and handed it to Smith. The man took it. Then he looked back at Pocahontas, resting a hand on her cheek. She put a hand over his. “Come with me?”  
  
 _No,_ Thomas thought. _Please, no. Not this. This is too much._ He closed his eyes, then opened them. They held hands now.  
  
Pocahontas looked up at her father, who said something to her. She then looked over at her people, and lastly, Smith. She couldn’t seem to choose. Finally, she looked back at Smith and said something, rubbing his knuckles along her face. Thomas saw tears in her eyes.  
  
“Then…I’ll stay with you,” Smith said.  
  
Thomas opened his mouth to protest.  
  
Pocahontas bent down, cupping Smith’s face with her hand and saying more. Smith rested his hand on her neck.  
  
“But I can’t leave you.”  
  
She smiled at him and said something in a soothing tone. They bent closer and Thomas closed his eyes, looking away. He couldn’t bear to see them kiss again. He only opened his eyes again when he heard their lips breaking apart. Some men picked up Smith’s stretcher and took him to the boat. Pocahontas and Smith’s hands slid out of each other's grasp. Smith was put into the boat.  
  
“Good luck, lad,” Lon said, helping Thomas push the boat off.  
  
“Godspeed, John,” Thomas added softly. _I’ll miss you so much._  
  
And that was the last he ever saw of Captain John Smith.  
  


##  **Wiggins**

Wiggins pushed his way through the trees, blowing his nose and dabbing his eyes as he went. The world was crashing in around him and he couldn’t even think straight. He closed his eyes and brushed away some tears with his sleeve.  
  
He banged into something, falling backwards.  
  
A tree. He stood up and found himself beginning to climb it.  
  
 _What am I doing?_ he thought. _I’ve never climbed a tree before - I have balance problems - I’ll fall!_  
  
But, thankfully, he didn’t. Still, after six or so feet, he decided to not go up any higher, wary of falling. He closed his eyes and bowed his head back against the tree, letting one leg dangle.  
  
Wiggins couldn’t keep himself together and he didn’t even bother trying. Instead, he wept into his handkerchief until it became too heavy to hold more tears. He put it on his lap then, but it slipped off and fell to the ground. He didn’t even care.  
  
“What in the name of God…?”  
  
Wiggins sucked in his breath and tried to stay quiet - he just wanted to be alone, and here was some man coming and ruining that.  
  
“Hello?” the man called out. “Who’s there?”  
  
“No one, no one at all,” Wiggins shot back. “Please go.”  
  
“Wiggins?” the man asked. “What are you doing up there? I thought you’d gotten on the ship.”  
  
Wiggins didn’t even know who this other man was.  
  
“I’ll be getting on soon,” Wiggins replied, wringing his hands together.  
  
“But it’s left already.”  
  
“ _What_?” Wiggins squeaked. He sat up quickly and felt himself losing balance. Screaming, he fell over the side of the branch and crashed to the ground. He landed on something hard and it crumpled beneath him.  
  
“Oof!” the hard thing cried. Shaking, Wiggins rolled off it and saw that it was a person. Namely, Thomas - he looked distracted.  
  
“It’s _left_?” Wiggins wailed. His breathing gained speed while his vision fogged up with tears. _How many tears does a person hold?_ “John’s gone?”  
  
Thomas’s face fell and he nodded slowly. “He’s gone back to England to get better.”  
  
“But-but-but-but how…can he get better…without _me_?” Wiggins wailed. “I’m the only one he can trust!”  
  
“What?” Thomas asked, sounding confused.  
  
“He loved me, he never meant to hurt me, no!” Wiggins grabbed Thomas’s shirt. “You have to get me on that ship! Please! I can’t have him be angry with me!”  
  
“What?” Thomas repeated. “Captain Smith - loved…”  
  
“Why would I be talking about Captain Smith?” Wiggins snapped. “I’m talking about the Governor!”  
  
He felt confused, crazed, and he couldn’t string thoughts together in his mind.  
  
“Wait - you and the Governor…” Thomas trailed off, staring at Wiggins.  
  
“Yes, yes!” Wiggins cried, barking a laugh. “We love each other! God, Thomas, I can’t be without him - please, you must get me on that ship! Before he starts to think I’ve left him!”  
  
Wiggins gasped as he recalled Ratcliffe’s red eyes and he shuddered, hiding himself in his arms. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening! Please, no, no!”  
  
Thomas pulled Wiggins’s hands off his shirt. “Calm down, Wiggins, please, you’re making me feel worse.”  
  
Wiggins sniffed and looked at Thomas, cocking his head slightly to the side. “Why would _you_ feel terrible? You’ve stolen John’s job from him, shipped him off to England, away from me!”  
  
“At the price of someone else,” Thomas responded. “Someone I…” Thomas looked away and didn't say anything at first. Wiggins's sobs were loud and clear in the crisp woodland air. Thomas eventually looked back at him and continued, swallowing, “You’re welcome to stay in Jamestown - we could use the extra worker.”

“Work?” Wiggins gasped. “But-but-but I can’t do anything! I’m just…” He looked down at himself. “Me.”  
  
“Look, I don’t particularly care what you do, so long as it’s more than trimming bushes,” Thomas grumbled. “Talk with the Indians about proper food, I don’t know! But it’s come to Jamestown or stay here in the woods, living like the Indians. You’re welcome to choose.”  
  
Wiggins looked at Thomas and then covered his face with his hands, crying. Thomas’s face softened and he wrapped an arm around Wiggins. Wiggins tensed up and tried not to think about what Ratcliffe would do if he found out...  
  
“Come on, I’ll take you back to camp," Thomas said. "Here - you dropped this.”  
  
He handed Wiggins something. Wiggins looked at it and saw that it was his handkerchief.  
  
“Oh,” he muttered. “Thank you.” He took it back and dabbed at his eyes. “I can’t imagine what’s overcome me. Must be the stress of losing my job, my home...my John.”  
  
“I know how you feel,” Thomas muttered quietly, seemingly to himself.  
  
Wiggins doubted that very highly.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thomas**

Thomas pulled his hat down over his eyes and entered the fort, head bowed. For once, he wanted to walk somewhere without everyone persistently bugging him for answers that he simply did not have.  
  
No such luck.  
  
“Mr. Gates, sir, a moment of your time!”  
  
“Mr. Gates! Mr. Gates!”  
  
Thomas sighed and lifted his cap, looking at the people talking to him. It was Lon and Charles, holding guns.  
  
“Yes?” Thomas wondered tiredly.  
  
“We wanna go to the woods t’ shoot some deer to fill up the smokehouse,” Charles explained, swinging his gun to his other shoulder. “But that Wiggins yah hired to draw the maps of the area says he doesn’t have a map ready yet.”  
  
Thomas groaned and began to massage his temples. _ Wiggins _ . How many complaints had he received about Wiggins? He’d lost count, there were so many.  
  
“Go find Pocahontas,” Thomas eventually ordered, straightening up. _ Can’t look weak in front of the men _ , he told himself.  _ John would never let himself.  _ “She can show you around.” He began to walk away. “I’ll talk with Wiggins.”

“Yes, sir!” Lon shouted back at him.  
  
Thomas frowned - he missed the days when the men treated him equally, calling him by his first name. ‘Sir’ and ‘Mr. Gates’ seemed so formal and stuffy, especially considering he was only declared the leader of the group because he was the first to stand up to Ratcliffe. And it wasn't like he was going to be in charge long – just until the ship with the new Governor came.  
  
Thomas weaved through the throngs of men building Jamestown, apologizing for stepped toes and barely squeezing his way out of talking with the men. He didn’t have time to talk and restate his orders - he needed to get to Wiggins.  
  
Wiggins was in the main tent, where he was supposed to spend his days examining the map the Indians had done for them and drawing copies of it. But he currently wasn’t working so much as doodling random shapes on the paper.  
  
“Wiggins!” Thomas snapped, stepping in front of Wiggins’s table. Wiggins jerked into a sitting position, banging his head against the back of his chair. Wiggins squeaked and used his left hand to rub the back of his head.  
  
“M-M-M-Mr. Gates!” Wiggins cried. “Wh-what are you doing here?”  
  
Thomas sighed and sat on top of the table, just wanting to collapse. Wiggins eyed him warily.  
  
“I’ve been receiving a lot of complaints since I took command, Wiggins,” Thomas stated. Wiggins blinked. “Especially ones about you.”  
  
“Oh,” Wiggins said. Thomas waited for the other man to continue, but was he met with silence. Thomas sighed again.  
  
“Wiggins, when I assigned this job to you, you had no complaints.”  
  
“I still don’t, sir - I love doing this.” Wiggins took a quill in his hands and ran his fingers through the feather. He wouldn't look at Thomas.  
  
“Then _why_ ,” Thomas spat, “are you not getting anything done?” Wiggins winced. “You’ve been working on these maps for almost a month, and you still haven’t gotten a single one done!”  
  
“I would rather not say. Sir,” Wiggins added quickly, biting his lip.

Thomas closed his eyes and imagined a happy place where he didn’t have to deal with the nuisances of command. It was a quiet, empty place…Smith was there…  
  
Opening his eyes, Thomas swallowed the lump in his throat. _ Don’t think about John. _   
  
“Mr. Wiggins, I order you to tell me.”  
  
Wiggins eyes widened and Thomas felt worse. He hated abusing his _ temporary  _ command position in the first place, and it really didn’t help that Wiggins looked so miserable… But things had to get done - he couldn’t have any man slacking off on him, not one. Mapmaking was a simple task, nothing like the excruciating physical labor the other men went through.  
  
“I miss John,” Wiggins admitted in a quiet tone. Instantly, an image of Smith popped into Thomas’s head - he was laughing, smiling at Thomas - but Thomas was quick reminded himself that it was Ratcliffe Wiggins was talking about, not Smith.  
  
Thomas shifted uncomfortably on the table and then hopped off it. Wiggins had his head bowed, and he was staring at the part of his shirt he held in his hands.  
  
The looming question Thomas had tried to put out of his mind struck with full force - what in the glorious name of God was Wiggins’s attraction to Ratcliffe? Ratcliffe was a cruel, greedy, fat man with no heart but for himself, and Wiggins was so...so...so  innocent.   
  
“And Percy’s gone,” Wiggins added in the same low tone. Thomas remembered that Percy was Ratcliffe’s pug - hadn’t he seen the animal the day John left?  
  
Wiggins buried his face in his hands and began to shake with tears. Thomas took a few steps back, disturbed by this sudden show of emotion.  
  
 _ Does this man have any decency?  _ he wondered, staring at Wiggins.  
  
“I’m doomed!” Wiggins wailed. “John’s going to find out and he’s going to come and…and…” He gasped and pulled his arms over his head.  
  
Thomas had no idea what was going on, but decided it was best to tread this trail with extreme care and grace. Anything to get his mind off the sudden flashing images of _ his  _ John.

“Look,” Thomas began, stepping next to Wiggins and grabbing him by the shoulders.  
  
“Look, um, I realize you and the Governor…ah…were involved…” Thomas’s head hurt like hell - being in charge should not involve babysitting. Why didn’t he just force Wiggins to work?  
  
 _Because I know how he feels._  
 __  
Don't start.  
  
“But, well, you have to admit, he was rather cruel. He hurt-”  
  
Wiggins snapped up with lightning speed. He whirled towards Thomas in the blink of an eye, grabbing the lapels his shirt. Wiggins then stood up, his face contorted in a way Thomas didn't even know a human face could twist into.  
  
“He never meant to hurt me!” Wiggins shrieked, shaking Thomas in a crazed state. “Never, never! Never…” He broke off and just crumpled up, right there.  
  
Thomas stared down at Wiggins. “Hurt you? What?” He was concerned now. He crouched down next to Wiggins, reaching out a hand to try and get Wiggins back into a functioning form; Wiggins batted him away.  
  
Looking at Wiggins, Thomas suddenly remembered a night a while ago, back when Ratcliffe was still in charge. Thomas was walking back to his tent to catch a few winks before his next shift on guard duty and happened to pass by Ratcliffe’s tent.  
  
“Stop it, stop it!” he’d heard Ratcliffe shout. He’d stopped walking and peeked into the tent, where he saw Wiggins falling to the floor while Ratcliffe stepped closer and closer, raising a foot behind him.  
  
Thomas had hurried in, alarmed and knowing full well that something bad was up. He’d said, “Governor Ratcliffe, sir.”  
  
That stopped Ratcliffe - he whirled towards Thomas, and the boy had never seen anything more frightening in his entire life. Ratcliffe was furious, and his eyes glowed crimson red.

In order to not look into those eyes, Thomas had looked over at Wiggins, who was looking up at him from the floor, his face overwhelmed with relief. Then the relief quickly was replaced with embarrassment and even fear and Wiggins coughed, standing up and looking away.  
  
“Dropped something,” he had mumbled.  
  
Thomas hadn’t been sure what to say to that, so he had mumbled, “Oh.”  
  
Back in the present, Thomas suddenly realized the truth. He stared at Wiggins, mouth agape. He wanted to say something, but what was there to say?  


 

##  **Wiggins**

Alone in his tent that night, Wiggins ran his fingers along the blade of the gardening sheers, then tapped the point. He gave a quiet sigh and put them back in their case, quietly closing it. He put it down on the floor, next to his cot, and then just stood there.

He eventually just sat on the cot and pulled out his easel, which had an unfinished map on it. Underneath was the Indian map. He slid the things out and picked up his pen.  
  
He didn’t know where to start.  
  
Wiggins sat there, holding the pen and looking at the paper. Eventually, he put the stuff back on the easel and lay down, wrapping his arms around himself. He pulled his knees up to his chin and stared at the wall of the tent.  
  
“Wiggins! You in there?”  
  
Wiggins jerked up into a sitting position and faced the tent flaps - someone was outside.  
  
“Wiggins?”

Wiggins groaned and rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head. _I don’t want to talk to Thomas right now,_ he thought. _I like Thomas, he’s nice, but-_  
  
He instantly felt guilty. _What would John think!_ He whimpered.  
  
“Wiggins, get up.” Wiggins felt Thomas yank the pillow out of his hands and then shake his shoulders.  
  
“Go away,” Wiggins moaned.  
  
“Wiggins, please - Pocahontas has something to show you.”  
  
Wiggins could care less about the Indian woman, really. All he wanted to do was go to sleep and wake up with John there, smiling at him and telling him that he was better and forgave Wiggins for getting stuck in Virginia and losing Percy.  
  
Indian women with things to show him didn’t fit anywhere into that equation.

“Go away,” Wiggins repeated.  
  
“It’s Percy!” Thomas cried. “She has Percy!”  
  
Wiggins was silent for a second, only a second. Then he leaped out of bed and threw himself at Thomas.  
  
“Whatwhatpercydidyousaypercyohgodpercytakemetohimpleaseohpleaseohplease!” Wiggins begged, jumping up and down in absolute hysteria.  
  
Thomas blinked at him. “Pocahontas is right outside.”  
  
Wiggins screamed, hugged Thomas, and ran out of his tent.  
  
 _Percy Percy Percy,_ he thought, smiling for the first time in forever.  
  
Outside, the only thing he saw was Pocahontas, standing and holding a small, grey, collarless pug in her arms. Wiggins shrieked in joy and held out his arms. “Percy!”

Percy barked and literally flew out of Pocahontas’s arms, flinging himself at Wiggins. The man caught him eagerly, laughing all the while. Percy licked Wiggin’s face - something he’d never done before - and Wiggins laughed harder.  
  
“…Who’s a good doggy, you are, yes you are, little Percy darling…”  
  
This carried on for some minutes, and then Wiggins wrapped his arms around Percy’s waist and rubbed his nose against the dog’s.  
  
“Such a dirty little Percy, aren’t we?” Wiggins asked. “Oh, but who cares!” He pressed the pug close to his chest. “Percy’s home.” Wiggins looked over at Pocahontas, who was talking with Thomas. He had no idea what the woman was saying, but he didn’t particularly care - he felt like a new man!  
  
He ran over to the two of them. “Oh, thank you so much, you can’t know how much this means to me!” Wiggins exclaimed, smoothing down some of Percy’s ruffled fur. “Percy’s alive and he’s doing fine and-”  
  
“Wiggins,” Thomas interrupted. Wiggins stopped chattering and glanced over at him, his mind already on the wonderful bath he would give poor dirty little Percy.  
  
“Um." Thomas paused, shifting uneasily. Then the boy sighed. "Percy’s made his home with Pocahontas.” Wiggins’s face fell when his emotions did.  
  
“I figured that you should know,” Thomas added quietly. Wiggins was motionless for a moment, then heaved a big sigh and looked down at Percy. He lifted the dog up and looked into its dark eyes.  
  
“Promise you’ll come visit?” Wiggins softly wondered. Percy barked and Wiggins smiled. “Good doggy.”  
  
Pocahontas interrupted and pointed at the ground, nodding over to the fort doorway. Wiggins took this as a sign that it was time for Percy to go. With a sigh, he bent down and put Percy on the ground. Pocahontas nodded and began to walk to the fort’s exit, Percy tailing behind.  
  
“Good-bye, Percy!” Wiggins called, pulling out his handkerchief and waving it over his head. “Take care now - don’t get eaten by any wild animals!”  
  
Percy barked back at Wiggins and then ran out of sight. Wiggins lowered his handkerchief and sniffed. He dabbed at his eyes and looked longingly at the spot where Percy had been.  
  
Meanwhile, Thomas remained. He stood completely still and just watched Wiggins.

Without thinking, Wiggins raced forward and threw his arms around Thomas’s neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, resting his chin on Thomas’s shoulder.  
  
“Your welcome,” Thomas said in a very quiet, nearly inaudible voice. His entire body, tense from Wiggins's embrace, relaxed, and he put a soft hand on Wiggins's back.  
  
Tears fell down Wiggin’s face and dripped onto the green fabric of Thomas’s shirt. Wiggins closed his eyes and snuffled, slowly leaning his head to the right, towards Thomas’s.  
  
 _John never did anything like that for me,_ Wiggins thought. _John-_  
  
He jerked open his eyes and pulled himself away quickly, looking around anxiously.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Thomas asked, glancing at his now-wet shoulder. He looked back at Wiggins and Wiggins saw that the light was just there enough for Thomas’s oceanic eyes to be green. Wiggins turned away, gripping his handkerchief tight. “What is it?”  
  
“Nothing, nothing,” Wiggins hurriedly replied. He began to walk away. “I have to go.”  
  
“Wait.” Wiggins felt someone grab his sleeve and he looked back into Thomas’s beautiful eyes.  
  
 _Look away, look away,_ he told himself. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.  
  
“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Thomas said quietly.  
  
“Please let go,” Wiggins pleaded. Thomas lowered his gaze and slowly let go of Wiggin’s sleeve.  
  
With one final look back at Thomas, Wiggins hurried off, confused again...but this time not because of Ratcliffe.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Thomas**

Thomas slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled back the tent flap, stepping outside. With quiet, steady steps, he hurried over to the fort’s entrance…and exit. He pushed it open and stepped outside. He breathed slowly, wary of making noise.

“Mr. Gates, sir!”  
  
Thomas jumped a mile into the air. He whirled to face the man who’d addressed him, prepping to pull his gun on them.  
  
“Lon!” he breathed when he saw who it was, relaxing a little.  
  
“What are you doing up, mate?” Lon asked.  
  
Thomas was up to leave Jamestown and do some thinking - alone and in peace - but he couldn’t tell Lon that.  
  
“Um,” Thomas began. His eyes flickered around until they landed on Lon’s musket. “You’re on guard duty?”  
  
Lon nodded. “That’s right, sir.”  
  
“I’m relieving you tonight. Go, get some rest - I’ll take over.”  
  
Lon’s eyes widened. “But, sir-”

“You’ve had a long, tiresome day - go get some rest,” Thomas repeated.  
  
Lon stared at Thomas for a second, then shrugged. “All right then. Whatever you say, sir.”  
  
Thomas grinned at Lon, who slung his rifle over his shoulder and walked back inside the fort. Thomas unhitched his rifle and waited for Lon to close the door. As soon as it was shut, he put his rifle back where it had been and ran down the path leading to the willow glade.  
  
 _The Indians won’t be attacking while they all sleep, anyway,_ he assured himself. _A guard is just an old tradition that refuses to die._

❧ ❧ ❧

Thomas paused, looking at the willow vines...or whatever it was they were called... He clutched the rifle close to his chest and took a deep breath.  
  
 _I must be crazy, coming back here,_ he thought.  
  
He could almost hear John’s voice again, and his chest ached. Shuddering, he raised the rifle in front of him and pushed the vines away, unable to think about using his hands and _touching_ those things.  
There was the glade, the cute little glade all hidden where no one should find it; there was the pond, all full of its lily pads and softly whispering inaudible words as water ran through it and into the river.  
  
And there was the moonlight, shining in the exact same place as it had _that night_.  
  
An image flashed in his head; Smith and Pocahontas standing together, arms wrapped around each other's bodies and lips pressed together while a soft wind made Pocahontas’s long, luxurious black hair twirl and spin around them.  
  
Thomas looked away, then slowly peeked back.  
  
Nothing. He was alone.

His throat full of so much emotion he thought he was choking, Thomas stepped out of his hidey-hole. He took a step into the pond - the water went to his mid-calves.  
  
He heard the war cry and closed his eyes. They were on the ground, fighting. Thomas heard the screech of metal on metal - it was him cleaning his gun.  
  
There was a loud crack and Thomas’s heart stopped beating. He opened his eyes and looked down at the water.  
  
It was perfectly clear and smooth - he could see his reflection, and he barely recognized himself. The last time he’d looked at himself in a looking-glass, he’d been so youthful, happy, and excited about going to the New World to shoot some savages and get rich.  
  
Now he looked tired, worn-down, and completely overwhelmed by the world around him.  
  
 _The New World was supposed to have brought hope and prosperity,_ he thought, _a_ _nd here I am, just so…_  
  
He sighed and looked up.  
  
“ _Thomas, get out of here!”_  
  
 _I’m so confused._ “John,” he whispered, “please come back.”  
  
“ _It’s all right, Thomas - we’ll get her tied off.”_  
 _  
_“ _You’ve been a slipshod sailor and a poor excuse for a soldier - don’t disappoint me again.”_  
 _  
_“ _Thank you.”_  
  
Thomas jumped slightly as he heard that last voice. He slowly looked at his right shoulder. His stomach churned and he fell to his knees, water splashing everywhere around him. The taste of acid filled his mouth and he gagged, puking.  
  
“ _Get out of here!”_  


##  **Wiggins**

“There!” Wiggins cried. Grinning, he put his quill back in the ink well. Then he blew on the map and rolled it up. “Last one done!” He stood, picked up the stack of maps, and ran out of the tent. “Mr. Gates, Mr. Gates, sir!” he called.  
  
He ran around, calling for Thomas. Men gawked and cussed at him whenever he happened to get in their way or bump into them, which was rather often.  
  
“Sorry, sorry,” Wiggins apologized each time. “Mr. Gates!”  
  
The stack of maps in his arms was so high, Wiggins couldn’t see where he was going. So it was to little surprise when he literally ran into someone. Both of them cried out, “Oomph!” and fell backwards, into the mud.  
  
“The maps!” Wiggins cried. “Oh, dear!” He sat up and began to gather the papers.  
  
“You finished them?”  
  
Wiggins looked up to the voice. In front of him, also on the ground, picking up maps, was Thomas. Wiggins realized in embarrassment that it was Thomas who he’d bumped into and he averted his faze.  
  
“Yes, I did,” Wiggins answered, glancing down at the maps in his arms. “Every single one, all thirty you asked for.” He frowned, picking the last map out of the mud. “Sorry it took so long.”  
  
“It was a big job,” Thomas said, standing up and swinging all the maps he had into one arm. “And besides, you had a lot on your mind.” He held out a hand and Wiggins took it; Thomas helped Wiggins up.  
  
“Yes, I suppose I did,” Wiggins mumbled, pulling his hand away from Thomas. _I don't want to talk about this._ He sighed. “Well, here you go.” He shoved the maps into Thomas’s arms, and Thomas stumbled back from the sheer mass of all of it.  
  
“Oh…thanks.”  
  
Wiggins nodded, grinned, and turned to walk away. But then Thomas said something that stopped him dead in his tracks.  
  
“A ship delivering mail and the new Governor will be here sometime soon.” Wiggins turned back to Thomas. “If you have any letters to write, I suggest you get started on them.”  
  
“Really,” Wiggins said blankly, after a brief pause. He stared off at some inconsequential thing behind Thomas, deep in thought.  
  
 _I could go back to England,_ Wiggins realized with a smile. _I could go back, find John, and explain things to him! Surely he’ll listen when I tell him that Percy is alive and well, that he ran away on his own accord._

“Thank you very much!” Wiggins exclaimed. He grinned at Thomas and stepped forward to hug him. Then he stopped, realizing what he was doing. He licked his lips, sighed and backed away.  
  
Déjà vu.

“I’ll be in my tent,” he mumbled, “in case you want to assign me to something.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Thomas**

_Dear Mum and Dad-_  
 __  
How have you been  
  
Thomas crossed the line out.  
  
 _I have so much to tell you, I don’t know where_  
  
No, no, that wouldn’t do as a beginning line.  
  
Thomas groaned and leaned back in his chair. The ship was due to arrive from England the next day - his only chance of communication with his parents and little sister for the next five months - and he couldn’t think of what to say. He couldn’t tell them about Smith - he couldn’t even __imagine how they’d react - and Thomas couldn’t think of a single instant in which he hadn’t been completely focused on Smith, Smith, and only Smith.  
  
A pang met his heart when he thought of his family. Amanda, his eight-year-old sister and her crazy stories. His father, strong and happy. And his mother… It hurt most to think about his mother.  
  
She’d been so upset when she’d learned that Thomas was going to the New World. “Why can’t you stay here in England?” she’d asked over and over. “There’s no need to go traipsing off to the New World - you’re only a boy!”  
  
“Elizabeth,” his father would then interject, putting a hand around his wife’s waist. “Thomas is seventeen; he is perfectly capable of making his own decisions."  
  
Thomas bit his lip and looked back at the paper. Then he looked out of his tent flaps, where men were milling about, eating supper in the twilight. Thomas thought-

_Shining blonde hair_

_Down to his shoulders_

_Commanding air_

He wrapped his arms around himself and watched the flame of his candle slowly dwindle away.

_This fire smolders_

Thomas looked back at his paper, nibbling on his inner cheek.

_I thought that nothing could be better_

_I thought that nothing could go wrong_

_Yet now as I write this letter_

  _The past now seems so long_

He sighed and stood up, walking to the entrance of his tent as he continued to think-

_When I think of him_

_I’m met with joy and pain_

He tensed up, clutching the flaps of the tent.

_The moonlight was dim_

_Grass wet with twilight rain_

“Don’t,” he mumbled, turning back to his letter.

_I thought that nothing could be better_

_I thought that nothing could go wrong_

_Yet now as I write this letter_

_The past now seems so long_

“ _It happened,”_ he quietly sang aloud. “ _Now I know. This only goes to show how a heart can be blackened.”_

He sat back down and scribbled a sentence down.  _ It’s been hard here in the New World. _

_Given the choice_

_To do it all again_

_To hear his voice_

_I would do it again_

_In a second_

_Instant_

_Moment_

There was no doubt in Thomas’s mind, none at all.

_But things would change_

_Be diff’rent_

_I would accept sooner_

“ _We were not meant,”_ Thomas muttered, “ _to be together.”_  
  
Filled with a fierce determination that gnawed at his entrails, Thomas scratched another sentence. Then another. And another. He sang to himself-

_I thought that nothing could be better_

_I thought that nothing could go wrong_

_Yet now as I write this letter_

_The past now seems so long_

He wrote like a man with a gun to his head. He wrote and wrote until he needed more paper. He didn’t want to take some more from the limited stash, but his family  _ had  _ to know what had happened to him.   
  
As Thomas walked back into his tent with the extra paper, he sang-

_The past now seems_

He paused, sitting down in his seat.

_So long_

  
  


##  **Wiggins**

Meanwhile, at the very same time, Wiggins was suffering from the exact same writer’s block that Thomas was going through. However, instead of trying to write to his parents, he was trying to write to his older sister, Felicity.

Ever since Ratcliffe had hired him, Wiggins had found it hard to keep in touch with Felicity, since Ratcliffe was always on the move. Then he and Ratcliffe went to the New World and Wiggins lost touch with her completely.  
  
Now he had a chance to get back in touch with her without worrying about Ratcliffe taking his letters and burning them like he had before.  
  
It seemed so surreal to Wiggins, being able to do things without asking Ratcliffe for permission first. Not that he did much, but the freedom was still…relishing.  
  
Wiggins sighed and looked down at Percy, who was taking a nap on his lap. He smiled and pet the pug before turning to his paper.  
  
 _Sister Felicity-_  
 __  
So terribly sorry we haven’t been in touch. I’ve missed you _so_ _much_ _!_  
  
 __I suppose you’re wondering about Governor Ratcliffe. He  
  
Wiggins stopped writing and pulled a finger up to his mouth. He began to chew a nail.

_ He and I were rom _

Wiggins suddenly realized how utterly ridiculous the idea of telling Felicity about him and Ratcliffe was and threw done his pen. He picked at his nails, chewing them even though they were already pathetic little stubs. He thought-

_Raven black hair_

_Down past his shoulders_

_Frightening air_

Wiggins shuddered and looked out his tent flap. Like a great bonfire, the sun was setting in vibrant reds and oranges.

_This fire smolders_

He glanced down at Percy and smiled sadly, beginning to massage the dog’s ears.

_I thought that nothing could be better_

_I thought that nothing could go wrong_

_Yet now as I write this letter_

_The past now seems so long_

Wiggins picked up the pen, running the feather part of it along the table.

_When I think of him_

_I’m met with love and hate_

Ratcliffe’s murderous red eyes flashed through Wiggins’s mind when he closed his eyes. Wiggins whimpered and shifted in his seat. Percy stirred, but did not wake.

_I could not once win_

_Once in that scary state_

“John,” Wiggins whispered. He looked back at the letter.

_I thought that nothing could be better_

_I thought that nothing could go wrong_

_Yet now as I write this letter_

_The past now seems so long_

Wiggins scribbled the truth down. _He and I were in a romantic relationship. Then he started to hurt me, and I didn’t realize._  
  
He squirmed in his seat again. Percy woke up then and looked up at Wiggins with an annoyed expression. Then the dog hopped off of Wiggins’s lap, onto the floor, but then came back up, eventually settling himself onto the cot next to Wiggins, where the pug pressed against his thigh.  
  
“ _It happened,”_ Wiggins whispered, petting Percy. “ _Now I know - this only goes to show how his heart could be battened.”_  
He picked Percy up and looked into the pug’s brown eyes. He cocked his head and pressed the animal close to his chest. He thought-

_Given the choice_

_To relive it again_

He shuddered.

_To hear his voice_

_I would do it again_

_In a second_

_Instant_

_Moment_

Wiggins closed his eyes and clutched Percy tighter. The pug gave a squeak but didn’t seem to be uncomfortable.

_But things would change_

_Be diff’rent_

_I’d get away sooner_

“ _We were not meant,”_ Wiggins sang, “ _to be together.”_ Then he put Percy back down, picked up his pen and wrote, singing to himself-

_I thought that nothing could be better_

_I thought that nothing could go wrong_

_Yet now as I write this letter_

_The past now seems so long_

Wiggins signed his name -  _ With love from your brother, Felix  _ \- and then just sat there, hand on Percy’s back.

_The past now seems_

He looked out of the tent, pausing as he watched the dark suck the twilight away.

_So long_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one ever said I was a quality songwriter. Please don't be put off by this scene - it gets better, honest.


	16. Chapter 16

**Thomas**

“…Here’s all the letters,” Thomas added. He handed the ship's captain the bag of letters and the captain took it, nodding curtly. Feeling uncomfortable, but also free – the new Governor was here! Thomas wasn't in charge anymore! - Thomas wondered, “Will you be taking passengers?”

“Passengers?” the man repeated, eyeing Thomas. “You want to leave here?”  
“No, not me. One of the men, he…” Thomas paused as he thought about Wiggins. “I’m not sure he wants to stay here.”

“If it’s one man, we can take him, so long as he works for his keep,” the man stated. Thomas nodded.

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

“We’ll be leaving to go back to England the day after tomorrow,” the sea captain reminded him.

“I know.”

❧   ❧   ❧

“Wiggins, I’d like to talk to you.”

Wiggins looked away from the worship he was giving Percy and up at Thomas. “Mr. Gates?”

Thomas shifted his position and eventually said, "Stand up, please.”

“Oh, right!” Wiggins gathered Percy up in arms and stood quickly, smoothing down his shirt and looking at Thomas expectantly. Thomas didn’t say anything at first and Wiggins asked, “You wanted to talk to me?”

Thomas bit his lip and put his right hand on the small of Wiggins’s back. “Let’s take a walk. This is somewhat personal.”

Wiggins nodded eagerly and bent down. He put Percy down. “You be a good doggy, now, Percy.” He pat the pug’s head and straightened up. “Let’s go.”

Suddenly, Thomas felt nervous with the idea of going somewhere - anywhere - alone with Wiggins, but he shook the feeling away and steered Wiggins out of the fort.

They walked down the path, and Wiggins was so talkative, Thomas couldn’t get a word in edgewise - he was thankful for that.

“Look at that tree there, isn’t it lovely the way it arches up, sort of like a human hand? Ooh, and the leaves are so beautiful - don’t you just love autumn, Mr. Gates? The colors are so bright and cheerful, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

“Autumn means winter’s coming,” Thomas stated. “Winter brings death.”

Wiggins shrugged. “That’s true, but still: isn’t autumn pretty? When you don’t think about the winter to come?”

Thomas glanced around and suddenly could see what Wiggins meant by autumn’s prettiness. The trees seemed to be on fire and the air was so crisp and clean; Thomas closed his eyes and breathed it all in.

“Yes,” he agreed. “It is.” He opened his eyes and glanced over at Wiggins. Before he could stop himself, he added, “There’s this place I know that I think you’d like. It’s very nice.”

 _To anyone who hasn’t seen what I have there,_ Thomas added silently to himself.

Wiggins’s eyes widened in joy. “Really? Could you take me there?”

Thomas shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, then sighed, deciding to forget his reluctance and just _take_ Wiggins there.

 _Maybe he’ll be less eager to leave and go back to Ratcliffe if I show him_ , he thought somewhere in the back of his mind.

“Come on.” He grabbed Wiggin’s arm softly and led him into the woods.

 

**Wiggins**

Thomas took him far into the woods, down a stream and to a gigantic willow tree. Wiggins noted that Thomas seemed a little tense, but he figured that it was just his imagination.

Then again, the feeling in the air was similar to the insufferable feeling that had always been there before Ratcliffe had lost his temper...

“Here,” Thomas said quietly, pointing at some hanging willow vines. He pulled Wiggins forward and reached out to them. He stopped, glanced back at Wiggins, then sighed and pulled the vines back.

Wiggins’s eyes widened and he gaped.

He felt as though he just about died, right there, even though the little glade wasn’t at its best, what with it being daytime.

“Mr. Gates!” Wiggins breathed.

Thomas took the hand he had on Wiggins’s arm and slid it to his far right shoulder. “Call me Thomas,” he said in that same quiet voice.

“Thomas,” Wiggins repeated. He turned his head so he was looking at Thomas square in the face. “You can call me Felix.”

Thomas nodded and they looked at each other's eyes for a few moments, then they both looked away at the same awkward time. Wiggins took a deep breath and blinked back into reality.

“Let’s go in,” he suggested.

“Al-all right,” Thomas agreed. Wiggins stole a little glance over at him and saw that Thomas now seemed very, very reluctant.

 _That can’t be my imagination,_ Wiggins thought as they stepped into the glade. They had to cross the pond, an action that left Wiggins with wet socks, something he absolutely loathed. He tried not to think about how quickly it would take for his toes to freeze into icicles.

“Thomas, is something wrong?” Wiggins asked when they were standing on dry land. While he spoke, Wiggins flicked his wet feet like a cat in order to get the water off.

Thomas wouldn’t look at him. “It’s just hard to be here, that’s all.”

“Why?” Wiggins pressed. Thomas sighed and flopped down onto the ground. Wiggins quietly sat down next to him, crossing his legs yoga-style.

“I…well, I…” Thomas sighed and fell back. Wiggins looked expectantly at him.

“Promise you won’t laugh or anything?” Thomas asked.

“Well,” Wiggins began, “I really can't promise that I won’t laugh, because what you have to say may be considered very humorous by my standards. However, because you seem so upset by what you want to tell me, I can assume that what you have to say is not in any way comical, and-”

“I fell in love with Captain John Smith.”

Wiggins had his mouth open - he closed it and eyed Thomas, not really sure what he was thinking.

“The Governor sent me after him when he went out one night. I followed him here.” Thomas glanced around the glade. “I found him…” He took a deep breath. His next words were said so quietly, Wiggins barely heard him. “I found him kissing the Indian woman. Pocahontas.”

Wiggins kept a straight face.

_How could he think that I’d laugh at this?_

“An Indian jumped out,” Thomas continued, “and attacked John. I…” He swallowed. “I…” His voice was cracking. “I shot him!” Thomas turned his body away and covered his face, crying.

At first, Wiggins thought that by ‘him,’ Thomas meant Captain Smith. But that couldn’t be who he meant - according to everyone, Ratcliffe had shot Smith. So Wiggins concluded that Thomas was talking about the Indian who had jumped out and attacked Smith. It made more sense, anyway.

Thomas said something else, something Wiggins couldn’t understand. “What?” he asked.

“The ship is leaving the day after tomorrow,” Thomas repeated, looking up at Wiggins with shiny blue-green eyes. “The captain says that he’ll take you as a passenger.”

“You mean…I could - I could go back?” Wiggins asked. “To England?” _To John?_

Thomas nodded slowly. Wiggins inhaled and looked away from Thomas, up at the treetops. He should’ve felt relieved and ecstatic, but instead, he felt…sad. Repulsed, even. He looked back at Thomas, then exhaled deeply.

He couldn't leave.

So Wiggins shook his head and glanced back down at Thomas. “No,” he stated. “This is my home now.”

This only seemed to make Thomas weep harder. Wiggins untangled his legs and lay down next to the young man, propping himself up with his elbow.

“Why are you crying?” he wondered.

Thomas never cried; he was too...aloof for that. Then he was also in charge, or had been until today, and thus had to keep a strong face in front of the other men.

But as Wiggins looked closer, he saw something he'd never noticed about Thomas before. Thomas was sad, and he'd had so much happen to him. He'd shot someone. He'd watched someone he loved give someone else their affection. And now all the pain was just coming out unstoppably, having been bottled up for too long.

_He's just as scared and miserable as we all are._

“I thought you would decide to leave if I told you!” Thomas gasped. “I was so sure…” He trailed off and sighed, shaking his head. He looked over at Wiggins.

Before he could lose his nerve, Wiggins leaned over and kissed Thomas softly on the lips.


	17. Chapter 17

**Thomas**

Thomas froze when Wiggins kissed him. He froze and stared at the other man, who just hovered there, his face inches from Thomas’s. Thomas swallowed and closed his eyes.  
  
Things were too confusing. Wiggins was supposed to be jumping up and down in gleeful joy over the fact that he could go back to that damned Ratcliffe, but instead he was saying that he wouldn’t be going anywhere. Then he had to go and kiss Thomas.  
  
Wiggins always made Thomas’s head hurt.  
  
“I’m not going to leave, Thomas,” Wiggins declared.  
  
“I know,” Thomas croaked, opening his eyes. His vision was filmy and wet, so he blinked a few times. Wiggins was still close to him.  
  
“Do you want me to go?” Wiggins asked softly. They were so close, Thomas could feel Wiggins’s hot breath blowing against his face. He swallowed again, but the stinging lump in his throat didn’t go down this time.  
  
“I-it’s your choice,” he mumbled. “Not my concern.”  
  
Wiggins stared at him, and Thomas looked away. He wanted to break completely away and sit up, but, at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to sever the inches between the two of them.  
  
“Thomas.”

Thomas looked back at Wiggins. The other man had his lips puckered in concentration and was eyeing Thomas strangely.  
  
“Was it because I kissed you?” Wiggins queried. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that-”  
  
“No!” Thomas interrupted quickly. Wiggins broke off and they stared at each other. Thomas closed his eyes and realized what he said. He bit his lip and opened his eyes slowly.  
  
“I want you to stay,” Thomas whispered. “Here.” He gulped. “With me.” He couldn’t even believe what he was saying or what he was doing.  
  
Wiggins’s face softened and he leaned closer. Thomas knew what was happening but was still terribly frightened. He licked his lips, took a deep breath, and raised his hands. Wiggins hesitated and Thomas, feeling some impatience creep through his body, grabbed Wiggins by the shoulders and softly yanked him down.  
  
They’re lips crashed together. Thomas heard his heart beat faster and his head swam. _How is this happening, how is this happening?_ he wondered. But Wiggins then had a hand running through Thomas’s red hair and Thomas was unable to answer his questions - or any questions, for that matter.  
  
Thomas slowly slid his hands off of Wiggins’s shoulders and down to the man’s impossibly skinny waist. _He’s built like a twig,_ Thomas thought. The twig kissed his jawline and Thomas moaned, bringing in his right leg. He squeezed Wiggins tighter, not even thinking about how easy it probably would be to break him.  
  
Wiggins clutched at the front of Thomas’s shirt. Thomas’s heart was pounding in his ears. He kissed Wiggins somewhere - he didn't know where - and Wiggins fell to Thomas’s side, pulling Thomas down with him by the shirt. Thomas was instantly wary and paused, resting a hand on Wiggins’s.  
  
Wiggins cocked his head at him. “Thomas? What’s wrong?”

Thomas remembered asking Wiggins a very similar question a while back. This led to him thinking of Ratcliffe, and how the Governor and Wiggins had been involved.  
  
 _If he can handle the mass of Ratcliffe, then I won’t be any trouble,_ Thomas realized. _Felix isn’t a twig - he’s a battering ram._  
  
Thomas took the hand he had on Wiggins’s and put it over the other man’s mouth. He began to trace Wiggins's lips.

“Nothing at all,” he replied, leaning in. He removed his hand and kissed Wiggins with as much strength as he could muster. Wiggins gave a little squeak of joy and wrapped his hands around Thomas’s neck, pressing back with just as much strength.  
  
John Smith was the  _ last  _ thing on Thomas’s mind.   


 

##  **Wiggins**

Wiggins heard the cabin door softly shut and he looked up from his painting. After a pause, Thomas peeked his head around the corner of the hallway wall. “Mind if I come in?” Thomas wondered quietly. He looked tired and stressed again.  
  
“No, not at all!” Wiggins put his paintbrush down on the pallet and stood up. Thomas shuffled inside and Wiggins wrapped him up in a big hug. “I missed you, Thomas.”  
  
“I was only gone for a few hours,” Thomas mumbled. Wiggins giggled and gave him a quick peck.  
  
“Missed you anyway!” He squeezed Thomas and Thomas softly shrugged him away. Wiggins frowned at him.  
  
“What are you painting?” Thomas asked. Wiggins beamed and pulled on his arm.  
  
“I’ll show you!”  
  
Wiggins led Thomas over to the painter’s easel and then proudly showed him his work. Thomas studied it.  
  
“Is that…Percy?”  
  
Wiggins nodded, grinning. “In his Indian clothing,” he explained. “Isn’t he cute?”

“Unbelievably,” Thomas muttered, massaging one of his temples. Wiggins smiled at his painting and picked up the paintbrush, adding a few more strokes.  
  
“I think I’ll paint that raccoon he makes company with next,” Wiggins continued, smiling over at Thomas. “Oh, and with that little hummingbird! Do you think Pocahontas would stand for a self-portrait? She has such a lovely face-”  
  
“Felix!” Thomas snapped.  
  
Wiggins dropped his paintbrush and stared at Thomas. His throat was all tight and - oh, no. Thomas's eyes. They didn't look blue-green. _No_ , Wiggins thought. _Please_.  
  
“I come home, and I just want quiet,” Thomas grumbled in annoyance. “Instead, I get you prattling on and on about your painting. Felix.” Thomas jerked his gaze Wiggins’s way. “It’s a nice painting, but I really don’t want to hear about it now, all right? I just...” Thomas grumbled something inaudible to himself.  
Wiggins looked at him fearfully and then shrunk back, squinting his eyes shut. _Any minute now, any minute now. Just get it over with, please, Thomas._  
  
“Felix?” Thomas asked softly. Wiggins felt a hand on his shoulder and he bit his inner cheek. “Felix, what’s wrong?”  
  
Wiggins swallowed and opened his eyes. He was met with Thomas’s tired gaze.  
  
“You’re going to hit me,” Wiggins muttered, averting his eyes to the ground. “Any minute now, you’re going to hit me like John did.”  
  
Thomas was quiet for a few moments, leaving Wiggins’s heart to begin pounding in his chest. _Why isn’t he hitting me?_  
  
Thomas raised his other hand and Wiggins closed his eyes. But instead of the sharp, crisp pain that he always felt when he was slapped, his felt Thomas’s callused hand softly cup his face. He jerked at first, then relaxed and opened his eyes. Thomas was looking at him caressingly.

“I would never hurt you,” Thomas said quietly. “Never.”  
  
Wiggins relaxed a little bit more and asked, “Promise?”  
  
“A thousand promises,” Thomas replied. “And...I’m sorry I snapped at you. It’s been a hard day, but that’s no reason to be upset with you.”  
  
Wiggins smiled crookedly, relaxing completely. “You’re forgiven.” He leaned over towards Thomas and kissed him. Thomas smiled and slid the hand he had on Wiggins’s shoulder down Wiggins’s back. Wiggins giggled quietly and threw his arms around Thomas’s neck.  
  
The painting could wait. Just for a little bit.

 


End file.
